a  I  B  RA  R.Y 

OF  THE 
U  N  I  VLRS  ITY 
Of   1  LLI  N  O  I  5 


i  9  o  0 
v.ll 


1 


Return  this  book  on  or  before  the 
Latest  Date  stamped  below.  A 
charge  is  made  on  all  overdue 

University  of  Illinois  Library 

aft  -trisso 

«p»  *?  m 

n 

27214 

THE  COMPLETE  WORKS 
OF  W  M.  THACKERAY 

The  History  of 
Pendennis 

His  Fortunes  and  3KCisfortunes 
His  Friends,  and  His 
Qreatest  Enemy 

Volume  III 

COLONIAL  PRESS  COMPANY 
BOSTON  and  &CEW  YORK 

v.il 


m 

T2V 

W»  ■ 

CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.   A  Critical  Chapter   1 

II.   Convalescence    16 

III.  Fanny's  Occupation 's  gone   35 

IV.  In  which  Fanny  engages  a  new  Medical 

Man   52 

V.   Foreign  Ground   69 

VI.    "  Fairoaks  to  Let  "   87 

VII.   Old  Friends   103 

VIII.   Explanations   122 

IX.   Conversations   133 

X.   The  Way  of  the  World   154 

XI.    Which  accounts,  perhaps,  for  Chapter  X  177 

XII.    Phillis  and  Corydon   198 

XIII.  Temptation   206 

XIV.  In  which  Pen  begins  his  Canvass.    .    .    .  223 
XV.    In  which  Pen  begins  to  doubt  his  Election  237 

XVI.    In  which  the  Major  is  bidden  to  Stand 

and  Deliver   257 

XVII.   In  which  the  Major  neither  yields  his 

.  Money  nor  his  Life   273 

XVIII.    In  which  Pendennis  counts  his  Eggs    .    .  286 

XIX.    Fiat  Justitia   296 

XX.    In  which  the  Decks  begin  to  clear     .    .  308 

199001 


iv  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGK 

XXI.   Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sam  Huxter   320 

XXII.  Shows  how  Arthur,  had  better  have  taken 

a  Return-Ticket   335 

XXIII.  A  Chapter  of  Match-making   345 

XXIV.  Exeunt  Omnes   358 


4 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

VOL.  III. 

Page 

Laura  (Plioto-Etcliing  from  drawing  by  W.  L.  Taylor) 

Frontispiece 

Fanny  cashiered   2 

Helen  installed   18 

The  Captain  won't  go  home  till  Morning  ....  58 

Mr.  Arthur  and  Mr.  Samuel   112 

Mr.  Huxter  likes  to  be  called  a  Goose    ....  158 

Miss  Amory's  Interesting  Employment   204 

A  Recognition   235 

Mr.  Morgan  at  his  ease   265 

A  Good  Shot   278 

A  Discovery   382 

An  Escape   386 


PENDENNIS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

A  CRITICAL  CHAPTER. 

As  Fanny  saw  the  two  ladies  and  the  anxious  coun- 
tenance of  the  elder,  who  regarded  her  with  a  look  of 
inscrutable  alarm  and  terror,  the  poor  girl  at  once 
knew  that  Pen's  mother  was  before  her ;  there  was  a 
resemblance  between  the  widow's  haggard  eyes  and 
Arthur's  as  he  tossed  in  his  bed  in  fever.  Fanny 
looked  wistfully  at  Mrs.  Pendennis  and  at  Laura 
afterwards;  there  was  no  more  expression  in  the 
latter's  face  than  if  it  had  been  a  mass  of  stone. 
Hard-heartedness  and  gloom  dwelt  on  the  figures  of 
both  the  new-comers  ;  neither  showed  any  the  faint- 
est gleam  of  mercy  or  sympathy  for  Fanny.  She 
looked  desperately  from  them  to  the  Major  behind 
them.  Old  Pendennis  dropped  his  eyelids,  looking 
up  ever  so  stealthily  from  under  them  at  Arthur's 
poor  little  nurse. 

"I  —  I  wrote  to  you  yesterday,  if  you  please,  Ma'am," 
Fanny  said,  trembling  in  every  limb  as  she  spoke ; 
and  as  pale  as  Laura,  whose  sad  menacing  face  looked 
over  Mrs.  Peodennis's  shoulder. 


2 


PENDENNIS. 


"  Did  you,  Madam  ? "  Mrs.  Pendennis  said.  "  I 
suppose  I  may  now  relieve  you  from  nursing  my  son. 
I  am  his  mother,  you  understand." 

"  Yes,  Ma'am.  I  —  this  is  the  way  to  his  — Oh, 
wait  a  minute,"  cried  out  Fanny.  "I  must  prepare 
you  for  his  —  " 

The  widow,  whose  face  had  been  hopelessly  cruel 
and  ruthless,  here  started  back  with  a  gasp  and  a  lit- 
tle cry,  which  she  speedily  stifled. 

"  He 's  been  so  since  yesterday,"  Fanny  said,  trem. 
bling  very  much,  and  with  chattering  teeth. 

A  horrid  shriek  of  laughter  came  out  of  Pen's 
room,  whereof  the  door  was  open ;  and,  after  several 
shouts,  the  poor  wretch  began  to  sing  a  college 
drinking-song,  and  then  to  hurray  and  to  shout  as 
if  he  was  in  the  midst  of  a  wine-party,  and  to 
thump  with  his  fist  against  the  wainscot.  He  was  quite 
delirious. 

"  He  does  not  know  me,  Ma'am,"  Fanny  said. 

"Indeed.  Perhaps  he  will  know  his  mother;  let 
me  pass,  if  you  please,  and  go  in  to  him."  And  the 
widow  hastily  pushed  by  little  Fanny,  and  through 
the  dark  passage  which  led  into  Pen's  sitting-room. 
Laura  sailed  by  Fanny,  too,  without  a  word;  and 
Major  Pendennis  followed  them.  Fanny  sat  down  on 
a  bench  in  the  passage,  and  cried,  and  prayed  as  well 
as  she  could.  She  would  have  died  for  him;  and 
they  hated  her  !  They  had  not  a  word  of  thanks  or 
kindness  for  her,  the  fine  ladies.  She  sat  there  in  the 
passage,  she  did  not  know  how  long.  They  never 
came  out  to  speak  to  her.  She  sat  there  until  Doctor 
Goodenough  came  to  pay  his  second  visit  that  day ; 
he  found  the  poor  little  thing  at  the  door. 

"  What,  nurse  ?  How 's  your  patient  ?  "  asked 
the  good-natured  Doctor.    "  Has  he  had  any  rest  ?  " 


PENDENNIS. 


3 


"  Go  and  ask  them.  They  're  inside,"  Fanny  an- 
swered. 

"Who?  his  mother?" 

Fanny  nodded  her  head  and  did  n't  speak. 

"Yon  must  go  to  bed  yourself,  my  poor  little  maid," 
said  the  Doctor.    "  You  will  be  ill,  too,  if  you  don't." 

"Oh,  mayn't  I  come  and  see  him:  mayn't  I  come 
and  see  him  !  I  —  I  —  love  him  so,"  the  little  girl 
said ;  and  as  she  spoke  she  fell  down  on  her  knees 
and  clasped  hold  of  the  Doctor's  hand  in  such  an 
agony  that  to  see  her  melted  the  kind  physician's 
heart,  and  caused  a  mist  to  come  over  his  spectacles. 

"  Pooh,  pooh !  Nonsense !  Nurse,  has  he  taken 
his  draught  ?  Has  he  had  any  rest  ?  Of  course  you 
must  come  and  see  him.    So  must  I." 

"They'll  let  me  sit  here,  won't  they,  sir?  I'll 
never  make  no  noise.  I  only  ask  to  stop  here,"  Fanny 
said.  On  which  the  Doctor  called  her  a  stupid  little 
thing ;  put  her  down  upon  the  bench  where  Pen's 
printer's  devil  used  to  sit  so  many  hours  ;  tapped  her 
pale  cheek  with  his  finger,  and  bustled  into  the  fur- 
ther room. 

Mrs.  Pendennis  was  ensconced  pale  and  solemn  in  a 
great  chair  by  Pen's  bedside.  Her  watch  was  on  the 
bed-table  by  Pen's  medicines.  Her  bonnet  and  cloaks 
were  laid  in  the  window.  She  had  her  Bible  in  her 
lap,  without  which  she  never  travelled.  Her  first 
movement,  after  seeing  her  son,  had  been  to  take 
Fanny's  shawl  and  bonnet  which  were  on  his  drawers, 
and  bring  them  out  and  drop  them  down  upon  his  study 
table.  She  had  closed  the  door  upon  Major  Penden- 
nis, and  Laura  too  ;  and  taken  possession  of  her  son. 

She  had  had  a  great  doubt  and  terror  lest  Arthur 
should  not  know  her ;  but  that  pang  was  spared  to 
her,  in  part  at  least.    Pen  knew  his  mother  quite 


4 


PENDENNIS. 


well,  and  familiarly  smiled  and  nodded  at  her.  When 
she  came  in,  he  instantly  fancied  that  they  were  at 
home  at  Fairoaks ;  and  began  to  talk  and  chatter  and 
laugh  in  a  rambling  wild  way.  Laura  could  hear  him 
outside.  His  laughter  shot  shafts  of  poison  into  her 
heart.  It  was  true  then.  He  had  been  guilty  —  and 
with  that  creature  !  —  an  intrigue  with  a  servant-maid  ; 
and  she  had  loved  him  —  and  he  was  dying  most 
likely  —  raving  and  unrepentant.  The  Major  now 
and  then  hummed  out  a  word  of  remark  or  consola- 
tion, which  Laura  scarce  heard.  A  dismal  sitting  it 
was  for  all  parties ;  and  when  Goodenough  appeared, 
he  came  like  an  angel  into  the  room. 

It  is  not  only  for  the  sick  man,  it  is  for  the  sick 
man's  friends  that  the  Doctor  comes.  His  presence 
is  often  as  good  for  them  as  for  the  patient,  and  they 
long  for  him  yet  more  eagerly.  How  we  have  all 
watched  after  him  !  what  an  emotion  the  thrill  of  his 
carriage-wheels  in  the  street,  and  at  length  at  the 
door,  has  made  us  feel !  how  we  hang  upon  his  words, 
and  what  a  comfort  we  get  from  a  smile  or  two,  if  he 
can  vouchsafe  that  sunshine  to  lighten  our  darkness  ! 
who  has  n't  seen  the  mother  prying  into  his  face,  to 
know  if  there  is  hope  for  the  sick  infant  that  cannot 
speak,  and  that  lies  yonder,  its  little  frame  battling 
with  fever  ?  Ah,  how  she  looks  into  his  eyes ! 
What  thanks  if  there  is  light  there ;  what  grief  and 
pain  if  he  casts  them  down  and  dares  not  say  "  hope  "  ! 
Or  it  is  the  house-father  who  is  stricken.  The  terri- 
fied wife  looks  on,  while  the  Physician  feels  his 
patient's  wrist,  smothering  her  agonies,  as  the  chil- 
dren have  been  called  upon  to  stay  their  plays  and 
their  talk.  Over  the  patient  in  the  fever,  the  wife 
expectant,  the  children  unconscious,  the  Doctor  stands 
as  if  he  were  Fate,  the  dispenser  of  life  and  death  •• 


Fanny  Cashiered. 


PENDENNIS. 


5 


he  must  let  the  patient  off  this  time;  the  woman 
prays  so  for  his  respite  !  One  can  fancy  how  awful 
the  responsibility  must  be  to  a  conscientious  man: 
how  cruel  the  feeling  that  he  has  given  the  wrong 
remedy,  or  that  it  might  have  been  possible  to  do 
better :  how  harassing  the  sympathy  with  survivors, 
if  the  case  is  unfortunate  —  how  immense  the  delight 
of  victory  ! 

Having  passed  through  a  hasty  ceremony  of  intro- 
duction to  the  new-comers,  of  whose  arrival  he  had 
been  made  aware  by  the  heart-broken  little  nurse  in 
waiting  without,  the  Doctor  proceeded  to  examine  the 
patient,  about  whose  condition  of  high  fever  there 
could  be  no  mistake,  and  on  whom  he  thought  it 
necessary  to  exercise  the  strongest  antiphlogistic  rem- 
edies in  his  power.  He  consoled  the  unfortunate 
mother  as  best  he  might;  and  giving  her  the  most 
comfortable  assurances  on  which  he  could  venture, 
that  there  was  no  reason  to  despair  yet,  that  every- 
thing might  still  be  hoped  from  his  youth,  the  strength 
of  his  constitution,  and  so  forth ;  and  having  done  his 
utmost  to  allay  the  horrors  of  the  alarmed  matron,  he 
took  the  elder  Pendennis  aside  into  the  vacant  room 
(Warrington's  bedroom),  for  the  purpose  of  holding  a 
little  consultation. 

The  case  was  very  critical.  The  fever,  if  not 
stopped,  might  and  would  carry,  off  the  young  fellow  ; 
he  must  be  bled  forthwith :  the  mother  must  be  in- 
formed of  this  necessity.  Why  was  that  other  young 
lady  brought  with  her  ?  She  was  out  of  place  in  a 
sick-room. 

"  And  there  was  another  woman  still,  be  hanged  to 
it !  "  the  Major  said,  "  the  —  the  little  person  who 
opened  the  door.  His  sister-in-law  had  brought  the 
poor  little  devil's  bonnet  ana  shawl  out,  and  flung 


6 


PENDENNIS. 


tliem  upon  the  study-table.  Did  Goodenough  know 
anything  about  the  —  the  little  person  ?  I  just 
caught  a  glimpse  of  her  as  we  passed  in,"  the  Major 
said,  "  and  begad  she  was  uncommonly  nice-looking." 
The  Doctor  looked  queer  :  the  Doctor  smiled  —  in  the 
very  gravest  moments,  with  life  and  death  pending, 
such  strange  contrasts  and  occasions  of  humor  will 
arise,  and  such  smiles  will  pass,  to  satirize  the  gloom, 
as  it  were,  and  to  make  it  more  gloomy  ! 

"  I  have  it,"  at  last  he  said,  re-entering  the  study ; 
and  he  wrote  a  couple  of  notes  hastily  at  the  table 
there,  and  sealed  one  of  them.  Then,  taking  up  poor 
Fanny's  shawl  and  bonnet,  and  the  notes,  he  went  out 
in  the  passage  to  that  poor  little  messenger,  and  said, 
"  Quick,  nurse ;  you  must  carry  this  to  the  surgeon, 
and  bid  him  come  instantly :  and  then  go  to  my  house, 
and  ask  for  my  servant,  Harbottle,  and  tell  him  to  get 
this  prescription  prepared;  and  wait  until  I  —  until  it 
is  ready.    It  may  take  a  little  time  in  preparation." 

So  poor  Fanny  trudged  away  with  her  two  notes, 
and  found  the  apothecary,  who  lived  in  the  Strand 
hard  by,  and  who  came  straightway,  his  lancet  in  his 
pocket,  to  operate  on  his  patient;  and  then  Fanny 
made  for  the  Doctor's  house,  in  Hanover  Square. 

The  Doctor  was  at  home  again  before  the  prescrip- 
tion was  made  up,  which  took  Harbottle,  his  servant, 
such  a  long  time  in  compounding ;  and,  during  the 
remainder  of  Arthur's  illness,  poor  Fanny  never 
made  her  appearance  in  the  quality  of  nurse  at  his 
chambers  any  more.  But  for  that  day  and  the  next, 
a  little  figure  might  be  seen  lurking  about  Pen's  stair- 
case, —  a  sad,  sad  little  face  looked  at  and  interrogated 
the  apothecary,  and  the  apothecary's  boy,  and  the 
laundress,  and  the  kind  physician  himself,  as  they 
passed  out  of  the  chambers  of  the  sick  man.    And  on 


PEIvDENNlS. 


7 


the  third  day  the  kind  Doctor's  chariot  stopped  at 
Shepherd's  Inn,  and  the  good,  and  honest,  and  benev- 
olent man  went  into  the  Porter's  Lodge,  and  tended  a 
little  patient  he  had  there,  for  whom  the  best  remedy 
he  found  was  on  the  day  when  he  was  enabled  to  tell 
Fanny  Bolton  that  the  crisis  was  over,  and  that  there 
was  at  length  every  hope  for  Arthur  Pendennis. 

J.  Costigan,  Esquire,  late  of  her  Majesty's  service, 
saw  the  Doctor's  carriage,  and  criticised  its  horses 
and  appointments.  "  Green  liveries,  bedad  !  "  the 
General  said,  "  and  as  foin  a  pair  of  high-stepping  bee 
horses  as  ever  a  gentleman  need  sit  behoind,  let  alone 
a  docthor.  There 's  no  ind  to  the  proide  and  ar'gance 
of  them  docthors,  now-a-days  —  not  but  that  is  a  good 
one,  and  a  scoientific  cyrakter,  and  a  roight  good  fel- 
low, bedad ;  and  he 's  brought  the  poor  little  girl  well 
troo  her  faver,  Bows,  me  boy ;  "  and  so  pleased  was 
Mr.  Costigan  with  the  Doctor's  behavior  and  skill, 
that,  whenever  he  met  Dr.  Goodenough 's  carriage  in 
future,  he  made  a  point  of  saluting  it  and  the  physi- 
cian inside,  in  as  courteous  and  magnificent  a  manner, 
as  if  Dr.  Goodenough  had  been  the  Lord  Liftenant 
himself,  and  Captain  Costigan  had  been  in  his  glory 
in  Phaynix  Park. 

The  widow's  gratitude  to  the  physician  knew  no 
bounds  —  or  scarcely  any  bounds,  at  least.  The  kind 
gentleman  laughed  at  the  idea  of  taking  a  fee  from  a 
literary  man,  or  the  widow  of  a  brother  practitioner, 
and  she  determined  when  she  got  back  to  Fairoaks 
that  she  would  send  Goodenough  the  silver-gilt  vase, 
the  jewel  of  the  house,  and  the  glory  of  the  late  John 
Pendennis,  preserved  in  green  baize,  and  presented  to 
him  at  Bath,  by  the  Lady  Elizabeth  Eirebrace,  on  the 
recovery  of  her  son,  the  late  Sir  Anthony  Firebrace, 
from  the  scarlet  fever.    Hippocrates,  Hygeia,  King 


8 


PENDENNIS. 


Bladud,  and  a  wreath  of  serpents  surmount  the  cup  to 
this  day ;  which  was  executed  in  their  finest  manner, 
by  Messrs.  Abednego,  of  Milsom  Street ;  and  the 
inscription  was  by  Mr.  Birch,  tutor  to  the  young 
baronet. 

This  priceless  gem  of  art  the  widow  determined  to 
devote  to  Goodenough,  the  preserver  of  her  son ;  and 
there  was  scarcely  any  other  favor  which  her  grati- 
tude would  not  have  conferred  upon  him,  except  one, 
which  he  desired  most,  and  which  was  that  she  should 
think  a  little  charitably  and  kindly  of  poor  Fanny,  of 
whose  artless,  sad  story,  he  had  got  something  during 
his  interviews  with  her,  and  of  whom  he  was  induced 
to  think  very  kindly,  —  not  being  disposed,  indeed,  to 
give  much  credit  to  Pen  for  his  conduct  in  the  affair, 
or  not  knowing  what  that  conduct  had  been.  He 
knew  enough,  however,  to  be  aware  that  the  poor  in- 
fatuated little  girl  was  without  stain  as  yet;  that 
while  she  had  been  in  Pen's  room  it  was  to  see  the 
last  of  him,  as  she  thought,  and  that  Arthur  was 
scarcely  aware  of  her  presence ;  and  that  she  suffered 
under  the  deepest  and  most  pitiful  grief,  at  the  idea 
of  losing  him,  dead  or  living. 

But  on  the  one  or  two  occasions  when  Goodenongh 
alluded  to  Fanny,  the  widow's  countenance,  always 
soft  and  gentle,  assumed  an  expression  so  cruel  and 
inexorable,  that  the  Doctor  saw  it  was  in  vain  to  ask 
her  for  justice  or  pity,  and  he  broke  off  all  entreaties, 
and  ceased  making  any  further  allusions  regarding 
his  little  client.  There  is  a  complaint  which  neither 
poppy,  nor  mandragora,  nor  all  the  drowsy  syrups  of 
the  East  could  allay,  in  the  men  in  his  time,  as  we 
are  informed  by  a  popular  poet  of  the  days  of  Eliza- 
beth; and  which,  when  exhibited  in  women,  no 
medical  discoveries  or  practice  subsequent  —  neither 


PENDENNIS. 


9 


homoeopathy,  nor  hydropathy,  nor  mesmerism,  nor  Dr. 
Simpson,  nor  Dr.  Locock  can  cure,  and  that  is  —  we 
won't  call  it  jealousy,  but  rather  gently  denominate  it 
rivalry  and  emulation  in  ladies. 

Some  of  those  mischievous  and  prosaic  people  who 
carp  and  calculate  at  every  detail  of  the  romancer, 
and  want  to  know,  for  instance,  how,  when  the  charac- 
ters in  the  "  Critic  "  are  at  a  dead  lock  with  their  dag- 
gers at  each  other's  throats,  they  are  to  be  got  out  of 
that  murderous  complication  of  circumstances,  may 
be  induced  to  ask  how  it  was  possible  in  a  set  of 
chambers  in  the  Temple,  consisting  of  three  rooms, 
two  cupboards,  a  passage  and  a  coal-box,  Arthur  a  sick 
gentleman,  Helen  his  mother,  Laura  her  adopted 
daughter,  Martha  their  country  attendant,  Mrs. 
Wheezer  a  nurse  from  St.  Bartholomew's  Hospital, 
Mrs.  Flanagan  an  Irish  laundress,  Major  Pendennis  a 
retired  military  officer,  Morgan  his  valet,  Pidgeon 
Mr.  Arthur  Pendennis's  boy,  and  others  could  be  ac- 
commodated —  the  answer  is  given  at  once,  that  al- 
most everybody  in  the  Temple  was  out  of  town,  and 
that  there  was  scarcely  a  single  occupant  of  Pen's 
house  in  Lamb  Court  except  those  who  were  engaged 
round  the  sick-bed  of  the  sick  gentleman,  about  whose 
fever  we  have  not  given  a  lengthy  account,  neither 
shall  we  enlarge  very  much  upon  the  more  cheerful 
theme  of  his  recovery. 

Everybody  we  have  said  was  out  of  town,  and  of 
course  such  a  fashionable  man  as  young  Mr.  Sibwright, 
who  had  chambers  on  the  second  floor  in  Pen's  stair- 
case, could  not  be  supposed  to  remain  in  London. 
Mrs.  Flanagan,  Mr.  Pendennis's  laundress,  was  ac- 
quainted with  Mrs.  Kouncy  who  did  for  Mr.  Sib- 
wright, and  that  gentleman's  bedroom  was  got  ready 
for  Miss  Bell,  or  Mrs.  Pendennis,  when  the  latter 


10 


PENDEKNIS. 


should  be  inclined  to  leave  her  son's  sick-room,  to 
try  and  seek  for  a  little  rest  for  herself. 

If  that  young  buck  and  flower  of  Baker  Street, 
Percy  Sibwright,  could  have  known  who  was  the 
occupant  of  his  bedroom,  how  proud  he  would  have 
been  of  that  apartment !  — what  poems  he  would  have 
written  about  Laura !  (several  of  his  things  have  ap- 
peared in  the  annuals,  and  in  manuscript  in  the  no- 
bility's albums)  —  he  was  a  Camford  man  and  very 
nearly  got  the  English  Prize  Poem,  it  was  said  —  Sib- 
wright, however,  was  absent  and  his  bed  given  up  to 
Miss  Bell.  It  was  the  prettiest  little  brass  bed  in  the 
world,  with  chintz  curtains  lined  with  pink  —  he  had 
a  mignonette  box  in  his  bedroom  window,  and  the 
mere  sight  of  his  little  exhibition  of  shiny  boots, 
arranged  in  trim  rows  over  his  wardrobe,  was  a  grati- 
fication to  the  beholder.  He  had  a  museum  of  scent, 
pomatum,  and  bears'-grease  pots,  quite  curious  to  ex- 
amine, too  ;  and  a  choice  selection  of  portraits  of 
females  almost  always  in  sadness  and  generally  in 
disguise  or  deshabille,  glittered  round  the  neat  walls 
of  his  elegant  little  bower  of  repose.  Medora  with 
dishevelled  hair  was  consoling  herself  over  her  banjo 
for  the  absence  of  her  Conrad  —  the  Princesse  Fleur 
de  Marie  (of  Rudolstein  and  the  Mysteres  de  Paris) 
was  sadly  ogling  out  of  the  bars  of  her  convent  cage, 
in  which,  poor  prisoned  bird,  she  was  moulting  away 
—  Dorothea  of  Don  Quixote  was  washing  her  eternal 
feet :  —  in  fine,  it  was  such  an  elegant  gallery  as  be- 
came a  gallant  lover  of  the  sex.  And  in  Sibwright' s 
sitting-room,  while  there  was  quite  an  infantine  law 
library  clad  in  skins  of  fresh,  new-born  calf,  there  was 
a  tolerably  large  collection  of  classical  books  which 
he  could  not  read,  and  of  English  and  French  works 
of  poetry  and  fiction  which  he  read  a  great  deal  too 


PENDENNIS. 


11 


much.  His  invitation  cards  of  the  past  season  still 
decorated  his  looking-glass  :  and  scarce  anything  told 
of  the  lawyer  but  the  wig-box  beside  the  Venus  upon 
the  middle  shelf  of  the  book-case,  on  which  the  name 
of  P.  Sibwright,  Esquire,  was  gilded. 

With  Sibwright  in  chambers  was  Mr.  Bangham. 
Mr.  Bangham  was  a  sporting  man,  married  to  a  rich 
widow.  Mr.  Bangham  had  no  practice  —  did  not 
come  to  chambers  thrice  in  a  term  ;  went  a  circuit 
for  those  mysterious  reasons  which  make  men  go  cir- 
cuit, —  and  his  room  served  as  a  great  convenience 
to  Sibwright  when  that  young  gentleman  gave  his 
little  dinners.  It  must  be  confessed  that  these  two 
gentlemen  have  nothing  to  do  with  our  history,  will 
never  appear  in  it  again  probably,  but  we  cannot  help 
glancing  through  their  doors  as  they  happen  to  be 
open  to  us,  and  as  we  pass  to  Pen's  rooms ;  as  in 
the  pursuit  of  our  own  business  in  life  through  the 
Strand,  at  the  Club,  nay  at  church  itself,  we  cannot 
help  peeping  at  the  shops  on  the  way,  or  at  our  neigh- 
bor's dinner,  or  at  the  faces  under  the  bonnets  in  the 
next  pew. 

Very  many  years  after  the  circumstances  about 
which  we  are  at  present  occupied,  Laura,  with  a 
blush  and  a  laugh  showing  much  humor,  owned  to 
having  read  a  French  novel  once  much  in  vogue,  and 
when  her  husband  asked  her,  wondering  where  on 
earth  she  could  have  got  such  a  volume,  she  owned 
that  it  was  in  the  Temple,  when  she  lived  in  Mr. 
Percy  Sibwright's  chambers. 

"And,  also,  I  never  confessed,"  she  said,  "on  that 
same  occasion,  what  I  must  now  own  to ;  that  I  opened 
the  japanned  box,  and  took  out  that  strange-looking 
wig  inside  it,  and  put  it  on  and  looked  at  myself  in 
the  glass  in  it." 


12 


PENDENNIS. 


Suppose  Percy  Sibwright  had  come  in  at  such  a 
moment  as  that  ?  What  would  he  have  said,  —  the 
enraptured  rogue  ?  What  would  have  been  all  the 
pictures  of  disguised  beauties  in  his  room  compared 
to  that  living  one  ?  Ah,  we  are  speaking  of  old 
times,  when  Sibwright  was  a  bachelor  and  before  he 
got  a  county  court,  —  when  people  were  young — when 
most  people  were  young.  Other  people  are  young 
now ;  but  we  no  more. 

When  Miss  Laura  played  this  prank  with  the  wig, 
you  can't  suppose  that  Pen  could  have  been  very  ill 
up-stairs ;  otherwise,  though  she  had  grown  to  care 
for  him  ever  so  little,  common  sense  of  feeling  and 
decorum  would  have  prevented  her  from  performing 
any  tricks  or  trying  any  disguises. 

But  all  sorts  of  events  had  occurred  in  the  course 
of  the  last  few  days  which  had  contributed  to  increase 
or  account  for  her  gayety,  and  a  little  colony  of  the 
reader's  old  friends  and  acquaintances  was  by  this  time 
established  in  Lamb  Court,  Temple,  and  round  Pen's 
sick-bed  there.  First,  Martha,  Mrs.  Pendennis's  ser- 
vant, had  arrived  from  Fairoaks,  being  summoned 
thence  by  the  Major,  who  justly  thought  her  presence 
would  be  comfortable  and  useful  to  her  mistress  and 
her  young  master,  for  neither  of  whom  the  constant 
neighborhood  of  Mrs.  Flanagan  (who  during  Pen's  ill- 
ness required  more  spirituous  consolation  than  ever 
to  support  her)  could  be  pleasant.  Martha  then  made 
her  appearance  in  due  season  to  wait  upon  Mrs.  Pen- 
dennis,  nor  did  that  lady  go  once  to  bed  until  the 
faithful  servant  had  reached  her,  when,  with  a  heart 
full  of  maternal  thankfulness,  she  went  and  lay  down 
upon  Warrington's  straw  mattress,  and  among  his 
mathematical  books,  as  has  been  already  described. 

It  is  true  that  ere  that  day  a  great  and  delightful  al- 


PENDENNIS. 


13 


teration  in  Pen's  condition  had  taken  place.  The  fever, 
subjugated  by  Dr.  Goodenough's  blisters,  potions,  and 
lancet,  had  left  the  young  man,  or  only  returned  at 
intervals  of  feeble  intermittence  ;  his  wandering  sen- 
ses had  settled  in  his  weakened  brain  :  he  had  had 
time  to  kiss  and  bless  his  mother  for  coming  to  him, 
and  calling  for  Laura  and  his  uncle  (who  were  both 
affected  according  to  their  different  natures  by  his 
wan  appearance,  his  lean  shrunken  hands,  his  hollow 
eyes  and  voice,  his  thin  bearded  face)  to  press  their 
hands  and  thank  them  affectionately ;  and  after  this 
greeting,  and  after  they  had  been  turned  out  of  the 
room  by  his  affectionate  nurse,  he  had  sunk  into  a 
fine  sleep  which  had  lasted  for  about  sixteen  hours, 
at  the  end  of  which  period  he  awoke  calling  out  that 
he  was  very  hungry.  If  it  is  hard  to  be  ill  and  to 
loathe  food,  oh,  how  pleasant  to  be  getting  well  and 
to  be  feeling  hungry  —  how  hungry  !  Alas,  the  joys 
of  convalescence  become  feebler  with  increasing  years, 
as  other  joys  do  —  and  then  —  and  then  comes  that 
illness  when  one  does  not  convalesce  at  all. 

On  the  day  of  this  happy  event,  too,  came  another 
arrival  in  Lamb  Court.  This  was  introduced  into  the 
Pen- Warrington  sitting-room  by  large  puffs  of  tobacco 
smoke  —  the  puffs  of  smoke  were  followed  by  an  in- 
dividual with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth,  and  a  carpet-bag 
under  his  arm  —  this  was  Warrington,  who  had  run 
back  from  Norfolk,  when  Mr.  Bows  thoughtfully  wrote 
to  inform  him  of  his  friend's  calamity.  But  he  had 
been  from  home  when  Bows's  letter  had  reached  his 
brother's  house  —  the  Eastern  Counties  did  not  then 
boast  of  a  railway  (for  we  beg  the  reader  to  under- 
stand that  we  only  commit  anachronisms  when  we 
choose,  and  when  by  a  daring  violation  of  those  natu- 
ral laws  some  great  ethical  truth  is  to  be  advanced) 


14 


PENDENNIS. 


—  in  fine,  Warrington  only  appeared  with  the  rest  of 
the  good  lnck  upon  the  lucky  day  after  Pen's  conva- 
lescence may  have  been  said  to  have  begun. 

His  surprise  was,  after  all,  not  very  great  when  he 
found  the  chambers  of  his  sick  friend  occupied,  and 
his  old  acquaintance  the  Major  seated  demurely  in  an 
easy-chair  (Warrington  had  let  himself  into  the  rooms 
with  his  own  pass-key),  listening,  or  pretending  to 
listen,  to  a  young  lady  who  was  reading  to  him  a  play 
of  Shakspeare  in  a  low  sweet  voice.  The  lady  stopped 
and  started,  and  laid  down  her  book,  at  the  apparition 
of  the  tall  traveller  with  the  cigar  and  the  carpet-bag. 
He  blushed,  he  flung  the  cigar  into  the  passage  :  he 
took  off  his  hat,  and  dropped  that  too,  and  going  up 
to  the  Major,  seized  that  old  gentleman's  hand,  and 
asked  questions  about  Arthur. 

The  Major  answered  in  a  tremulous,  though  cheery 
voice  —  it  was  curious  how  emotion  seemed  to  olden 
him  —  and  returning  Warrington's  pressure  with  a 
shaking  hand,  told  him  the  news  —  of  Arthur's  happy 
crisis,  of  his  mother's  arrival  —  with  her  young  charge 

—  with  Miss  — 

"  You  need  not  tell  me  her  name,"  Mr.  Warrington 
said  with  great  animation,  for  he  was  affected  and 
elated  with  the  thought  of  his  friend's  recovery — ■ 
"  you  need  not  tell  me  your  name.  I  knew  at  once 
it  was  Laura."  And  he  held  out  his  hand  and  took 
hers.  Immense  kindness  and  tenderness  gleamed 
from  under  his  rough  eyebrows,  and  shook  his  voice 
as  he  gazed  at  her  and  spoke  to  her.  "  And  this  is 
Laura  !  "  his  looks  seemed  to  say.  "  And  this  is  War- 
rington," the  generous  girl's  heart  beat  back.  "  Ar- 
thur's hero — the  brave  and  the  kind  —  he  has  come 
hundreds  of  miles  to  succor  him,  when  he  heard  of  his 
friend's  misfortune  ! " 


PENDENNIS. 


15 


u  Thank  you,  Mr.  Warrington,"  was  all  that  Laura 
said,  however :  and  as  she  returned  the  pressure  of 
his  kind  hand,  she  blushed  so,  that  she  was  glad  the 
lamp  was  behind  her  to  conceal  her  flushing  face. 

As  these  two  were  standing  in  this  attitude,  the 
door  of  Pen's  bed-chamber  was  opened  stealthily  as 
his  mother  was  wont  to  open  it,  and  Warrington  saw 
another  lady,  who  first  looked  at  him,  and  then  turn- 
ing round  towards  the  bed,  said,  "  Hsh !  "  and  put  up 
her  hand. 

It  was  to  Pen  Helen  was  turning,  and  giving  cau- 
tion. He  called  out  with  a  feeble,  tremulous,  but 
cheery  voice,  "  Come  in,  Stunner  —  come  in  Warring- 
ton. I  knew  it  was  you  —  by  the  —  by  the  smoke,  old 
boy,"  he  said,  as  holding  his  worn  hand  out,  and  with 
tears  at  once  of  weakness  and  pleasure  in  his  eyes, 
he  greeted  his  friend. 

"I  —  I  beg  pardon,  Ma'am,  for  smoking,"  Warring- 
ton said,  who  now  almost  for  the  first  time  blushed 
for  his  wicked  propensity. 

Helen  only  said,  "  God  bless  you,  Mr.  Warrington." 
She  was  so  happy,  she  would  have  liked  to  kiss  George. 
Then,  and  after  the  friends  had  had  a  brief,  very 
brief  interview,  the  delighted  and  inexorable  mother, 
giving  her  hand  to  Warrington,  sent  him  out  of  the 
room  too,  back  to  Laura  and  the  Major,  who  had  not 
resumed  their  play  of  Cymbeline  where  they  had  left 
it  off  at  the  arrival  of  the  rightful  owner  of  Pen's 
chambers. 


CHAPTER  II. 


CONVALESCENCE. 

Our  duty  now  is  to  record  a  fact  concerning  Pen- 
dennis,  which,  however  shameful  and  disgraceful, 
when  told  regarding  the  chief  personage  and  god- 
father of  a  novel,  must,  nevertheless,  be  made  known 
to  the  public  who  reads  his  veritable  memoirs.  Hav- 
ing gone  to  bed  ill  with  fever,  and  suffering  to  a  cer- 
tain degree  under  the  passion  of  love,  after  he  had 
gone  through  his  physical  malady,  and  had  been  bled 
and  had  been  blistered,  and  had  had  his  head  shaved, 
and  had  been  treated  and  medicamented  as  the  Doc- 
tor ordained :  —  it  is  a  fact,  that,  when  he  rallied  up 
from  his  bodily  ailment,  his  mental  malady  had  like- 
wise quitted  him,  and  he  was  no  more  in  love  with 
Fanny  Bolton  than  you  or  I,  who  are  much  too  wise, 
or  too  moral,  to  allow  our  hearts  to  go  gadding  after 
porters'  daughters. 

He  laughed  at  himself  as  he  lay  on  his  pillow, 
thinking  of  this  second  cure  which  had  been  effected 
upon  him.  He  did  not  care  the  least  about  Fanny 
now:  he  wondered  how  he  ever  should  have  cared: 
and  according  to  his  custom  made  an  autopsy  of  that 
dead  passion,  and  anatomized  his  own  defunct  sensa- 
tion for  his  poor  little  nurse.  What  could  have  made 
him  so  hot  and  eager  about  her  but  a  few  weeks  back  ? 
Not  her  wit,  not  her  breeding,  not  her  beauty  —  there 
were  hundreds  of  women  better-looking  than  she.  It 
was  out  of  himself  that  the  passion  had  gone :  it  did  not 


PENDENNIS. 


17 


reside  in  her.  She  was  the  same ;  but  the  eyes  which 
saw  her  were  changed;  and,  alas,  that  it  should  be 
so !  were  not  particularly  eager  to  see  her  any  more. 
He  felt  very  well  disposed  towards  the  little  thing, 
and  so  forth,  but  as  for  violent  personal  regard,  such 
as  he  had  but  a  few  weeks  ago,  it  had  fled  under  the 
influence  of  the  pill  and' lancet,  which  had  destroyed 
the  fever  in  his  frame.  And  an  immense  source  of 
comfort  and  gratitude  it  was  to  Pendennis  (though 
there  was  something  selfish  in  that  feeling,  as  in  most 
others  of  our  young  man),  that  he  had  been  enabled 
to  resist  temptation  at  the  time  when  the  danger  was 
greatest,  and  had  no  particular  cause  of  self-reproach 
as  he  remembered  his  conduct  towards  the  young  girl. 
As  from  a  precipice  down  which  he  might  have  fallen, 
so  from  the  fever  from  which  he  had  recovered,  he  re- 
viewed the  Fanny  Bolton  snare,  now  that  he  had 
escaped  out  of  it,  but  I 'm  not  sure  that  he  was  not 
ashamed  of  the  very  satisfaction  which  he  experi- 
enced. It  is  pleasant,  perhaps,  but  it  is  humiliating 
to  own  that  you  love  no  more. 

Meanwhile  the  kind  smiles  and  tender  watchfulness 
of  the  mother  at  his  bedside,  filled  the  young  man 
with  peace  and  security.  To  see  that  health  was  re- 
turning, was  all  the  unwearied  nurse  demanded:  to 
execute  any  caprice  or  order  of  her  patient's,  her 
chiefest  joy  and  reward.  He  felt  himself  environed 
by  her  love,  and  thought  himself  almost  as  grateful 
for  it  as  he  had  been  when  weak  and  helpless  in 
childhood. 

Some  misty  notions  regarding  the  first  part  of  his 
illness,  and  that  Fanny  had  nursed  him,  Pen  may 
have  had,  but  they  were  so  dim  that  he  could  not 
realize  them  with  accuracy,  or  distinguish  them  from 
what  he  knew  to  be  delusions  which  had  occurred  and 


18 


PENDENNIS. 


were  remembered  during  the  delirium  of  his  fever. 
So  as  he  had  not  thought  proper  on  former  occasions 
to  make  any  allusions  about  Fanny  Bolton  to  his 
mother,  of  course  he  could  not  now  confide  to  her  his 
sentiments  regarding  Fanny,  or  make  this  worthy 
lady  a  confidante.  It  was  on  both  sides  an  unlucky 
precaution  and  want  of  confidence  ;  and  a  word  or  two 
in  time  might  have  spared  the  good  lady,  and  those 
connected  with  her,  a  deal  of  pain  and  anguish. 

Seeing  Miss  Bolton  installed  as  nurse  and  tender  to 
Pen,  I  am  sorry  to  say  Mrs.  Pendennis  had  put  the 
worst  construction  on  the  fact  of  the  intimacy  of 
these  two  unlucky  young  persons,  and  had  settled  in 
her  own  mind  that  the  accusations  against  Arthur 
were  true.  Why  not  have  stopped  to  inquire  ?  — 
There  are  stories  to  a  man's  disadvantage  that  the 
women  who  are  fondest  of  him  are  always  the  most 
eager  to  believe.  Isn't  a  man's  wife  often  the  first 
to  be  jealous  of  him  ?  Poor  Pen  got  a  good  stock  of 
this  suspicious  kind  of  love  from  the  nurse  who  was 
now  watching  over  him ;  and  the  kind  and  pure  crea- 
ture thought  that  her  boy  had  gone  through  a  malady 
much  more  awful  and  debasing  than  the  mere  physi- 
cal fever,  and  was  stained  by  crime  as  well  as  weak- 
ened by  illness.  The  consciousness  of  this  she  had 
to  bear  perforce  silently,  and  to  try  to  put  a  mask  of 
cheerfulness  and  confidence  over  her  inward  doubt 
and  despair  and  horror. 

When  Captain  Shandon,  at  Boulogne,  read  the  next 
number  of  the  "  Pall  Mall  Gazette,"  it  was  to  remark 
to  Mrs.  Shandon  that  Jack  Finucane's  hand  was  no 
longer  visible  in  the  leading  articles,  and  that  Mr. 
Warrington  must  be  at  work  there  again.  "  I  know 
the  crack  of  his  whip  in  a  hundred,  and  the  cut  which 
the  fellow's  thong  leaves.     There 's  Jack  Bludyer. 


Helen  Installed. 


PENDENNIS. 


19 


goes  to  work  like  a  butcher,  and  mangles  a  subject. 
Mr.  Warrington  finishes  a  man,  and  lays  his  cuts 
neat  and  regular,  straight  down  the  back,  and  draw- 
ing blood  every  line  ; "  at  which  dreadful  metaphor, 
Mrs.  Shandon  said,  "  Law,  Charles,  how  can  you  talk 
so  !  I  always  thought  Mr.  Warrington  very  high, 
but  a  kind  gentleman ;  and  I 'm  sure  he  was  most 
kind  to  the  children."  Upon  which  Shandon  said, 
"  Yes  ;  he 's  kind  to  the  children  ;  but  he 's  savage 
to  the  men  ;  and  to  be  sure,  my  dear,  you  don't  un- 
derstand a  word  about  what  I'm  saying;  and  it's 
best  you  should  n't ;  for  it 's  little  good  comes  out 
of  writing  for  newspapers ;  and  it 's  better  here,  liv- 
ing easy  at  Boulogne,  where  the  wine 's  plenty,  and 
the  brandy  costs  but  two  francs  a  bottle.  Mix  us 
another  tumbler,  Mary,  my  dear ;  we  '11  go  back  into 
harness  soon.  '  Cras  ingens  iterabimus  sequor '  —  bad 
luck  to  it." 

In  a  word,  Warrington  went  to  work  with  all  his 
might,  in  place  of  his  prostrate  friend,  and  did  Pen's 
portion  of  the  "  Pall  Mall  Gazette "  "  with  a  ven- 
geance," as  the  saying  is.  He  wrote  occasional  arti- 
cles and  literary  criticisms  ;  he  attended  theatres  and 
musical  performances,  and  discoursed  about  them 
with  his  usual  savage  energy.  His  hand  was  too 
strong  for  such  sma?l  subjects,  and  it  pleased  him  to 
tell  Arthur's  mother,  and  uncle,  and  Laura,  that  there 
was  no  hand  in  all  the  band  of  penmen  more  grace- 
ful and  light,  more  pleasant  and  more  elegant,  than 
Arthur's.  "  The  people  in  this  country,  ma'am,  don't 
understand  what  style  is,  or  they  would  see  the  merits 
of  our  young  one,"  he  said  to  Mrs.  Pendennis.  "  I 
call  him  ours,  Ma'am,  for  I  bred  him ;  and  I  am  as 
proud  of  him  as  you  are ;  and,  bating  a  little  wilful- 
ness, and  a  little  selfishness,  and  a  little  dandinca- 


20 


PENDENNIS. 


tion,  I  don't  know  a  more  honest,  or  loyal,  or  gentle 
creature.  His  pen  is  wicked  sometimes,  but  he  is  as 
kind  as  a  young  lady  —  as  Miss  Laura  here  —  and  I 
believe  he  would  not  do  any  living  mortal  harm." 

At  this,  Helen,  though  she  heaved  a  deep,  deep 
sigh,  and  Laura,  though  she,  too,  was  sadly  wounded, 
nevertheless  were  most  thankful  for  Warrington's 
good  opinion  of  Arthur,  and  loved  him  for  being  so 
attached  to  their  Pen.  And  Major  Pendennis  was 
loud  in  his  praises  of  Mr.  Warrington,  —  more  loud 
and  enthusiastic  than  it  was  the  Major's  wont  to  be. 
"  He  is  a  gentleman,  my  dear  creature,"  he  said  to 
Helen,  "every  inch  a  gentleman,  my  good  madam 
—  the  Suffolk  Warringtons  —  Charles  the  First's 
baronets  :  —  what  could  he  be  but  a  gentleman,  come 
out  of  that  family  ?  —  father,  —  Sir  Miles  Warring- 
ton ;  ran  away  with  —  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Bell.. 
Sir  Miles  was  a  very  well-known  man  in  London,  and 
a  friend  of  the  Prince  of  Wales.  This  gentleman  is 
a  man  of  the  greatest  talents,  the  very  highest  accom- 
plishments,—  sure  to  get  on,  if  he  had  a  motive  to 
put  his  energies  to  work." 

Laura  blushed  for  herself  whilst  the  Major  was 
talking  and  praising  Arthur's  hero.  As  she  looked 
at  Warrington's  manly  face,  and  dark,  melancholy 
eyes,  this  young  person  had  been  speculating  about 
him,  and  had  settled  in  her  mind  that  he  must  have 
been  the  victim  of  an  unhappy  attachment;  and  as 
she  caught  herself  so  speculating,  why,  Miss  Bell 
blushed. 

Warrington  got  chambers  hard  by,  —  Grenier's 
chambers  in  Flag  Court ;  and  having  executed  Pen's 
task  with  great  energy  in  the  morning,  his  delight 
and  pleasure  of  an  afternoon  was  to  come  and  sit 
with  the  sick  man's  company  in  the  sunny  autumn 


PENDENNIS. 


21 


evenings  ;  and  lie  had  the  honor  more  than  once  of 
giving  Miss  Bell  his  arm  for  a  walk  in  the  Temple 
Gardens ;  to  take  which  pastime,  when  the  frank 
Laura  asked  of  Helen  permission,  the  Major  eagerly 
said,  "  Yes,  yes,  begad  —  of  course  you  go  out  with 
him  —  it 's  like  the  country,  you  know ;  everybody 
goes  out  with  everybody  in  the  Gardens,  and  there 
are  beadles,  you  know,  and  that  sort  of  thing  — 
everybody  walks  in  the  Temple  Gardens."  If  the 
great  arbiter  of  morals  did  not  object,  why  should 
simple  Helen  ?  She  was  glad  that  her  girl  should 
have  such  fresh  air  as  the  river  could  give,  and  to 
see  her  return  with  heightened  color  and  spirits  from 
these  harmless  excursions. 

Laura  and  Helen  had  come,  you  must  know,  to  a 
little  explanation.  When  the  news  arrived  of  Pen's 
alarming  illness,  Laura  insisted  upon  accompanying 
the  terrified  mother  to  London,  would  not  hear  of 
the  refusal  which  the  still  angry  Helen  gave  her, 
and,  when  refused  a  second  time  yet  more  sternly, 
and  when  it  seemed  that  the  poor  lost  lad's  life  was 
despaired  of,  and  when  it  was  known  that  his  conduct 
was  such  as  to  render  all  thoughts  of  union  hopeless, 
Laura  had,  with  many  tears,  told  her  mother  a  secret 
with  which  every  observant  person  who  reads  this 
story  is  acquainted  already.  Now  she  never  could 
marry  him,  was  she  to  be  denied  the  consolation  of 
owning  how  fondly,  how  truly,  how  entirely  she  had 
loved  him  ?  The  mingling  tears  of  the  women  ap- 
peased the  agony  of  their  grief  somewhat,  and  the 
sorrows  and  terrors  of  their  journey  were  at  least  in 
so  far  mitigated  that  they  shared  them  together. 

What  could  Fanny  expect  when  suddenly  brought 
up  for  sentence  before  a  couple  of  such  judges  ? 
Nothing  but  swift  condemnation,  awful  punishment, 


22 


PENDENNIS. 


merciless  dismissal  !  Women  are  cruel  critics  in 
cases  such  as  that  in  which  poor  Fanny  was  impli- 
cated ;  and  we  like  them  to  be  so  :  for,  besides  the 
guard  which  a  man  places  round  his  own  harem,  and 
the  defences  which  a  woman  has  in  her  heart,  her  faith, 
and  honor,  has  n't  she  all  her  own  friends  of  her  own 
sex  to  keep  watch  that  she  does  not  go  astray,  and  to 
tear  her  to  pieces  if  she  is  found  erring  ?  When  our 
Mahmouds  or  Selims  of  Baker  Street  or  Belgrave 
Square  visit  their  Fatimas  with  condign  punishment, 
their  mothers  sew  up  Fatima's  sack  for  her,  and  her 
sisters  and  sisters-in-law  see  her  well  under  water. 
And  this  present  writer  does  not  say  nay  j  he  protests 
most  solemnly  he  is  a  Turk  too.  He  wears  a  turban 
and  a  beard  like  another,  and  is  all  for  the  sack  prac- 
tice, Bismillah !  But  0  you  spotless,  who  have  the 
right  of  capital  punishment  vested  in  you,  at  least  be 
very  cautious  that  you  make  away  with  the  proper  (if 
so  she  may  be  called)  person.  Be  very  sure  of  the  fact 
before  you  order  the  barge  out :  and  don't  pop  your 
subject  into  the  Bosphorus,  until  you  are  quite  certain 
chat  she  deserves  it.  This  is  all  I  would  urge  in  poor 
Fatima's  behalf  —  absolutely  all  —  not  a  word  more, 
by  the  beard  of  the  Prophet.  If  she's  guilty,  down 
with  her  —  heave  over  the  sack,  away  with  it  into 
the  Golden  Horn  bubble  and  squeak,  and  justice 
being  done,  give  way,  men,  and  let  us  pull  back  to 
supper. 

So  the  Major  did  not  in  any  way  object  to  War- 
rington's continued  promenades  with  Miss  Laura,  but, 
like  a  benevolent  old  gentleman,  encouraged  in  every 
way  the  intimacy  of  that  couple.  Were  there  any 
exhibitions  in  town  ?  he  was  for  Warrington  conduct- 
ing her  to  them.  If  Warrington  had  proposed  to 
take  her  to  Vauxhall  itself,  this  most  complaisant  of 


PENDENNIS. 


23 


men  would  have  seen  no  harm,  —  nor  would  Helen,  if 
Pendennis  the  elder  had  so  ruled  it,  —  nor  would 
there  have  been  any  harm  between  two  persons  whose 
honor  was  entirely  spotless,  —  between  Warrington, 
who  saw  in  intimacy  a  pure,  and  high-minded,  and 
artless  woman  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  —  and 
Laura,  who  too  for  the  first  time  was  thrown  into  the 
constant  society  of  a  gentleman  of  great  natural  parts 
and  powers  of  pleasing ;  who  possessed  varied  acquire- 
ments, enthusiasm,  simplicity,  humor,  and  that  fresh- 
ness of  mind  which  his  simple  life  and  habits  gave 
him,  and  which  contrasted  so  much  with  Pen's  dandy 
indifference  of  manner  and  faded  sneer.  In  War- 
rington's very  uncouthness  there  was  a  refinement 
which  the  other's  finery  lacked.  In  his  energy,  his 
respect,  his  desire  to  please,  his  hearty  laughter,  or 
simple  confiding  pathos,  what  a  difference  to  Sultan 
Pen's  yawning  sovereignty  and  languid  acceptance  of 
homage  !  What  had  made  Pen  at  home  such  a  dandy 
and  such  a  despot  ?  The  women  had  spoiled  him,  as 
we  like  them  and  as  they  like  to  do.  They  had 
cloyed  him  with  obedience,  and  surfeited  him  with 
sweet  respect  and  submission,  until  he  grew  weary  of 
the  slaves  who  waited  upon  him,  and  their  caresses 
and  cajoleries  excited  him  no  more.  Abroad,  he  was 
brisk  and  lively,  and  eager  and  impassioned  enough 
—  most  men  are,  so  constituted  and  so  nurtured.  — 
Does  this,  like  the  former  sentence,  run  a  chance  of 
being  misinterpreted,  and  does  any  one  dare  to  sup- 
pose that  the  writer  would  incite  the  women  to  revolt  ? 
Never,  by  the  whiskers  of  the  Prophet,  again  he  says. 
He  wears  a  beard,  and  he  likes  his  women  to,  be 
slaves.  What  man  does  n't  ?  What  man  would  be 
henpecked,  I  say  ?  We  will  cut  off  all  the  heads  in 
Christendom  or  Turkeydom  rather  than  that. 


24 


PENDENNIS. 


Well,  then,  Arthur  being  so  languid,  and  indifferent, 

and  careless  about  the  favors  bestowed  upon  him,  how 
came  it  that  Laura  should  have  such  a  love  and  rap- 
turous regard  for  him,  that  a  mere  inadequate  expres- 
sion of  it  should  have  kept  the  girl  talking  all  the 
way  from  Fairoaks  to  London,  as  she  and  Helen 
travelled  in  the  post-chaise  ?  As  soon  as  Helen  had 
finished  one  story  about  the  dear  fellow,  and  narrated, 
with  a  hundred  sobs  and  ejaculations,  and  looks  up  to 
heaven,  some  thrilling  incidents  which  occurred  about 
the  period  when  the  hero  was  breeched,  Laura  began 
another  equally  interesting  and  equally  ornamented 
with  tears,  and  told  how  heroically  he  had  a  tooth 
out  or  wouldn't  have  it  out,  or  how  daringly  he 
robbed  a  bird's  nest,  or  how  magnanimously  he  spared 
it ;  or  how  he  gave  a  shilling  to  the  old  woman  on  the 
common,  or  went  without  his  bread  and  butter  for  the 
beggar-boy  who  came  into  the  yard  —  and  so  on.  One 
to  another  the  sobbing  women  sang  laments  upon 
their  hero,  who,  my  worthy  reader  has  long  since 
perceived,  is  no  more  a  hero  than  either  one  of  us. 
Being  as  he  was,  why  should  a  sensible  girl  be  so 
fond  of  him? 

This  point  has  been  argued  before  in  a  previous 
unfortunate  sentence  (which  lately  drew  down  all  the 
wrath  of  Ireland  upon  the  writer's  head),  and  which 
said  that  the  greatest  rascal-cutthroats  have  had 
somebody  to  be  fond  of  them,  and  if  those  monsters, 
why  not  ordinary  mortals  ?  And  with  whom  shall  a 
young  lady  fall  in  love  but  with  the  person  she  sees  ? 
She  is  not  supposed  to  lose  her  heart  in  a  dream,  like 
a  Princess  in  the  "  Arabian  Nights  ;  "  or  to  plight  her 
young  affections  to  the  portrait  of  a  gentleman  in  the 
Exhibition,  or  a  sketch  in  the  "  Illustrated  London 
News."    You  have  an  instinct  within  you  which  in- 


PENDENNIS. 


25 


clines  you  to  attach  yourself  to  some  one ;  you  meet 
Somebody  :  you  hear  Somebody  constantly  praised : 
you  walk,  or  ride,  or  waltz,  or  talk,  or  sit  in  the  same 
pew  at  church  with  Somebody :  you  meet  again,  and 
again,  and  —  "  Marriages  are  made  in  heaven,"  your 
dear  mamma  says,  pinning  your  orange-flower  wreath 
on,  with  her  blessed  eyes  dimmed  with  tears  —  and 
there  is  a  wedding  breakfast,  and  you  take  off  your 
white  satin  and  retire  to  your  coach-and-four,  and  you 
and  he  are  a  happy  pair.  —  Or,  the  affair  is  broken 
off,  and  then,  poor  dear  wounded  heart !  why  then  you 
meet  Somebody  Else,  and  twine  your  young  affections 
round  number  two.  It  is  your  nature  so  to  do.  Do 
you  suppose  it  is  all  for  the  man's  sake  that  you  love, 
and  not  a  bit  for  your  own  ?  Do  you  suppose  you 
would  drink  if  you  were  not  thirsty,  or  eat  if  you 
were  not  hungry  ? 

So  then  Laura  liked  Pen  because  she  saw  scarcely 
anybody  else  at  Fairoaks  except  Doctor  Portman  and 
Captain  Glanders,  and  because  his  mother  constantly 
praised  her  Arthur,  and  because  he  was  gentleman- 
like, tolerably  good-looking  and  witty,  and  because, 
above  all,  it  was  of  her  nature  to  like  somebody. 
And  having  once  received  this  image  into  her  heart, 
she  there  tenderly  nursed  it  and  clasped  it  —  she 
there,  in  his  long  absences  and  her  constant  solitudes, 
silently  brooded  over  it  and  fondled  it  —  and  when 
after  this  she  came  to  London,  and  had  an  opportunity 
of  becoming  rather  intimate  with  Mr.  George  Warring- 
ton, what  on  earth  was  to  prevent  her  from  thinking 
him  a  most  odd,  original,  agreeable,  and  pleasing 
person  ? 

A  long  time  afterwards,  when  these  days  were  over, 
and  Fate  in  its  own  way  had  disposed  of  the  various 
persons  now  assembled  in  the  dingy  building  in  Lamb 


26 


PENDENNIS. 


Court,  perhaps  some  of  them  looked  back  and  thought 
how  happy  the  time  was,  and  how  pleasant  had  been 
their  evening  talks  and  little  walks  and  simple  recrea- 
tions round  the  sofa  of  Pen  the  convalescent.  The 
Major  had  a  favorable  opinion  of  September  in  London 
from  that  time  forward,  and  declared  at  his  clubs  and 
in  society  that  the  dead  season  in  town  was  often 
pleasant,  doosed  pleasant,  begad!  He  used  to  go 
home  to  his  lodgings  in  Bury  Street  of  a  night, 
wondering  that  it  was  already  so  late,  and  that  the 
evening  had  passed  away  so  quickly.  He  made  his 
appearance  at  the  Temple  pretty  constantly  in  the 
afternoon,  and  tugged  up  the  long  black  staircase  with 
quite  a  benevolent  activity  and  perseverance.  And 
he  made  interest  with  the  chef  at  Bays's  (that  re- 
nowned cook,  the  superintendence  of  whose  work 
upon  Gastronomy  compelled  the  gifted  author  to  stay 
in  the  metropolis),  to  prepare  little  jellies,  delicate 
clear  soups,  aspics,  and  other  trifles  good  for  invalids, 
which  Morgan  the  valet  constantly  brought  down  to 
the  little  Lamb  Court  colony.  And  the  permission 
to  drink  a  glass  or  two  of  pure  sherry  being  accorded 
to  Pen  by  Doctor  Goodenough,  the  Major  told  with 
almost  tears  in  his  eyes  how  his  noble  friend  the 
Marquis  of  Steyne,  passing  through  London  on  his 
way  to  the  Continent,  had  ordered  any  quantity  of  his 
precious,  his  priceless  Amontillado,  that  had  been  a 
present  from  King  Ferdinand  to  the  noble  Marquis, 
to  be  placed  at  the  disposal  of  Mr.  Arthur  Pendennis. 
The  widow  and  Laura  tasted  it  with  respect  (though 
they  did  n't  in  the  least  like  the  bitter  flavor),  but 
the  invalid  was  greatly  invigorated  by  it,  and  War- 
rington pronounced  it  superlatively  good,  and  pro- 
posed the  Major's  health  in  a  mock  speech  after 
dinner  on  the  first  day  when  the  wine  was  served, 


PENDENNIS. 


27 


and  that  of  Lord  Steyne  and  the  aristocracy  in 
general. 

Major  Pendennis  returned  thanks  with  the  utmost 
gravity,  and  in  a  speech  in  which  he  used  the  words 
"  the  present  occasion,"  at  least  the  proper  number  of 
times.  Pen  cheered  with  his  feeble  voice  from  his  arm- 
chair. Warrington  taught  Miss  Laura  to  cry  "  Hear ! 
hear ! "  and  tapped  the  table  with  his  knuckles. 
Pidgeon  the  attendant  grinned,  and  honest  Doctor 
Goodenough  found  the  party  so  merrily  engaged,  when 
he  came  in  to  pay  his  faithful  gratuitous  visit. 

Warrington  knew  Sibwright,  who  lived  below,  and 
that  gallant  gentleman,  in  reply  to  a  letter  informing 
him  of  the  use  to  which  his  apartments  had  been 
put,  wrote  back  the  most  polite  and  flowery  letter  of 
acquiescence.  He  placed  his  chambers  at  the  service 
of  their  fair  occupants,  his  bed  at  their  disposal,  his 
carpets  at  their  feet.  Everybody  was  kindly  disposed 
towards  the  sick  man  and  his  family.  His  heart  (and 
his  mother's  too,  as  we  may  fancy)  melted  within  him 
at  the  thought  of  so  much  good  feeling  and  good 
nature.  Let  Pen's  biographer  be  pardoned  for  allud- 
ing to  a  time  not  far  distant  when  a  somewhat  similar 
mishap  brought  him  a  providential  friend,  a  kind 
physician,  and  a  thousand  proofs  of  a  most  touching 
and  surprising  kindness  and  sympathy. 

There  was  a  piano  in  Mr.  Sibwright's  chamber 
(indeed  this  gentleman,  a  lover  of  all  the  arts,  per- 
formed himself  —  and  exceedingly  ill  too  —  upon  the 
instrument ;  and  had  had  a  song  dedicated  to  him  — 
the  words  by  himself,  the  air  by  his  devoted  friend 
Leopoldo  Twankidillo  —  and  at  this  music-box,  as  Mr. 
Warrington  called  it,  Laura,  at  first  with  a  great  deal 
of  tremor  and  blushing  (which  became  her  very  much), 
played  and  sang,  sometimes  of  an  evening,  simple  airs, 


28 


PENDENNIS. 


and  old  songs  of  home.  Her  voice  was  a  rich  con- 
tralto, and  Warrington,  who  scarcely  knew  one  tune 
from  another,  and  who  had  but  one  tune  or  bray  in 
his  repertoire,  —  a  most  discordant  imitation  of  God 
save  the  King,  —  sat  rapt  in  delight  listening  to  these 
songs.  He  could  follow  their  rhythm  if  not  their  har- 
mony ;  and  he  could  watch,  with  a  constant  and  daily 
growing  enthusiasm,  the  pure  and  tender  and  generous 
creature  who  made  the  music. 

I  wonder  how  that  poor  pale  little  girl  in  the  black 
bonnet,  who  used  to  stand  at  the  lamp-post  in  Lamb 
Court  sometimes  of  an  evening,  looking  up  to  the 
open  windows  from  which  the  music  came,  liked  to 
hear  it.  When  Pen's  bedtime  came  the  songs  were 
hushed.  Lights  appeared  in  the  upper  room:  his 
room,  whither  the  widow  used  to  conduct  him ;  and 
then  the  Major  and  Mr.  Warrington,  and  sometimes 
Miss  Laura,  would  have  a  game  at  ecarte  or  backgam- 
mon ;  or  she  would  sit  by  working  a  pair  of  slippers 
in  worsted  —  a  pair  of  gentleman's  slippers  —  they 
might  have  been  for  Arthur  or  for  George  or  for 
Major  Pendennis  :  one  of  those  three  would  have 
given  anything  for  the  slippers. 

Whilst  such  business  as  this  was  going  on  within, 
a  rather  shabby  old  gentleman  would  come  and  lead 
away  the  pale  girl  in  the  black  bonnet,  who  had  no 
right  to  be  abroad  in  the  night  air,  and  the  Temple 
porters,  the  few  laundresses,  and  other  amateurs 
who  had  been  listening  to  the  concert,  would  also 
disappear. 

Just  before  ten  o'clock  there  was  another  musical 
performance,  namely  that  of  the  chimes  of  St.  Clem- 
ent's clock  in  the  Strand,  which  played  the  clear 
cheerful  notes  of  a  psalm,  before  it  proceeded  to  ring 
its  ten  fatal  strokes.    As  they  were  ringing,  Laura 


PENDENNIS. 


29 


began  to  fold  up  the  slippers  ;  Martha  from  Fairoaks 
appeared  with  a  bed-candle,  and  a  constant  smile  on 
her  face ;  the  Major  said,  "  God  bless  my  soul,  is  it 
so  late  ?  "  Warrington  and  he  left  their  unfinished 
game,  and  got  up  and  shook  hands  with  Miss  Bell. 
Martha  from  Fairoaks  lighted  them  out  of  the  pass- 
age and  down  the  stair,  and,  as  they  descended,  they 
could  hear  her  bolting  and  locking  "the  sporting 
door "  after  them,  upon  her  young  mistress  and  her- 
self. If  there  had  been  any  danger,  grinning  Martha 
said  she  would  have  got  down  "  that  thai*  hooky 
soord  which  hungup  in  gantleman's  room,"  —  mean- 
ing the  Damascus  scimitar  with  the  name  of  the 
Prophet  engraved  on  the  blade  and  the  red-velvet 
scabbard,  which  Percy  Sibwright,  Esquire,  brought 
back  from  his  tour  in  the  Levant,  along  with  an  Alba- 
nian dress,  and  which  he  wore  with  such  elegant 
effect  at  Lady  Mullinger's  fancy  ball,  Gloucester 
Square,  Hyde  Park.  It  entangled  itself  in  Miss 
Kewsey's  train,  who  appeared  in  the  dress  in  which 
she,  with  her  mamma,  had  been  presented  to  their 
sovereign  (the  latter  by  the  L  —  d  Ch-nc-ll-r's  lady), 
and  led  to  events  which  have  nothing  to  do  with  this 
history.  Is  not  Miss  Kewsey  now  Mrs.  Sibwright  ? 
Has  Sibwright  not  got  a  county  court  ?  —  Good  night, 
Laura  and  Fairoaks  Martha.  Sleep  well  and  wake 
happy,  pure  and  gentle  lady. 

Sometimes  after  these  evenings  Warrington  would 
walk  a  little  way  with  Major  Pendennis  —  just  a 
little  way — just  as  far  as  the  Temple  gate  —  as  the 
Strand  —  as  Charing  Cross  —  as  the  Club  —  he  was 
not  going  into  the  club  ?  Well,  as  far  as  Bury  Street, 
where  he  would  laughingly  shake  hands  on  the  Ma- 
jor's own  doorstep.  They  had  been  talking  about 
Laura  all  the  way.    It  was  wonderful  how  enthusias- 


30 


PENDENNIS. 


tic  the  Major,  who,  as  we  know,  used  to  dislike  her, 
had  grown  to  be  regarding  the  young  lady. — 
"Dev'lish  fine  girl,  begad.  Dev'lish  well-mannered 
girl  —  my  sister-in-law  has  the  manners  of  a  duchess 
and  would  bring  up  any  girl  well.  Miss  Bell's  a 
little  countrified.  But  the  smell  of  the  hawthorn  is 
pleasant,  demmy.  How  she  blushes.  Your  London 
girls  would  give  many  a  guinea  for  a  bouquet  like 
that  —  natural  flowers,  begad !  And  she 's  a  little 
money  too  —  nothing  to  speak  of  —  but  a  pooty  little 
bit  of  money."  In  all  which  opinions  no  doubt  Mr. 
Warrington  agreed;  and  though  he  laughed  as  he 
shook  hands  with  the  Major,  his  face  fell  as  he  left 
his  veteran  companion ;  and  he  strode  back  to  cham- 
bers, and  smoked  pipe  after  pipe  long  into  the  night, 
and  wrote  article  upon  article,  more  and  more  savage, 
in  lieu  of  friend  Pen  disabled. 

Well,  it  was  a  happy  time  for  almost  all  parties  con- 
cerned. Pen  mended  daily.  Sleeping  and  eating 
were  his  constant  occupations.  His  appetite  was 
something  frightful.  He  was  ashamed  of  exhibiting 
it  before  Laura,  and  almost  before  his  mother  who 
laughed  and  applauded  him.  As  the  roast  chicken 
of  his  dinner  went  away  he  eyed  the  departing  friend 
with  sad  longing,  and  began  to  long  for  jelly,  or  tea, 
or  what  not.  He  was  like  an  ogre  in  devouring. 
The  Doctor  cried  stop,  but  Pen  would  not.  Nature 
called  out  to  him  more  loudly  than  the  Doctor  and 
that  kind  and  friendly  physician  handed  him  over 
with  a  very  good  grace  to  the  other  healer. 

And  here  let  us  speak  very  tenderly  and  in  the 
strictest  confidence  of  an  event  which  befell  him,  and 
to  which  he  never  liked  an  allusion.  During  his  de- 
lirium the  ruthless  Goodenough  ordered  ice  to  be  put 
to  his  head,  and  all  his  lovely  hair  to  be  cut.    It  was 


PENDENNIS. 


31 


done  in  the  time  of  —  of  the  other  nurse,  who  left 
every  single  hair  of  course  in  a  paper  for  the  widow- 
to  count  and  treasure  up.  She  never  believed  but 
that  the  girl  had  taken  away  some  of  it,  but  then 
women  are  so  suspicious  upon  these  matters. 

When  this  direful  loss  was  made  visible  to  Major 
Pendennis,  as  of  course  it  was  the  first  time  the  elder 
saw  the  poor  young  man's  shorn  pate,  and  when  Pen 
was  quite  out  of  danger,  and  gaining  daily  vigor,  the 
Major,  with  something  like  blushes  and  a  queer  wink 
of  his  eyes,  said  he  knew  of  a  —  a  person  —  a  coiffeur, 
in  fact  —  a  good  man,  whom  he  would  send  down  to 
the  Temple,  and  who  would  —  a  —  apply  —  a  —  a 
temporary  remedy  to  that  misfortune- 
Laura  looked  at  Warrington  with  the  archest  spar- 
kle in  her  eyes  —  Warrington  fairly  burst  out  into  a 
boohoo  of  laughter:  even  the  widow  was  obliged  to 
laugh ;  and  the  Major  erubescent  confounded  the  im- 
pudence of  the  young  folks,  and  said  when  he  had  his 
hair  cut  he  would  keep  a  lock  of  it  for  Miss  Laura. 

Warrington  voted  that  Pen  should  wear  a  barris- 
ter's wig.  There  was  Sibwright's  down  below,  which 
would  become  him  hugely.  Pen  said  "  Stuff,"  and 
seemed  as  confused  as  his  uncle ;  and  the  end  was 
that  a  gentleman  from  Burlington  Arcade  waited  next 
day  upon  Mr.  Pendennis,  and  had  a  private  interview 
with  him  in  his  bedroom ;  and  a  week  afterwards  the 
same  individual  appeared  with  a  box  under  his  arm, 
and  an  ineffable  grin  of  politeness  on  his  face,  and  an- 
nounced that  he  had  brought  'ome  Mr.  Pendennis's 
'ead  of  'air. 

It  must  have  been  a  grand  but  melancholy  sight  to 
see  Pen  in  the  recesses  of  his  apartment,  sadly  con- 
templating his  ravaged  beauty  and  the  artificial 
means  of  hiding  its  ruin.    He  appeared  at  length  in 


32 


PENDENNIS. 


the  'ead  of  'air ;  but  Warrington  laughed  so  that  Pen 
grew  sulky,  and  went  back  for  his  velvet  cap,  a  neat 
turban  which  the  fondest  of  mammas  had  worked  for 
him.  Then  Mr.  Warrington  and  Miss  Bell  got  some 
flowers  off  the  ladies'  bonnets  and  made  a  wreath,  with 
which  they  decorated  the  wig  and  brought  it  out  in 
procession,  and  did  homage  before  it.  In  fact  they 
indulged  in  a  hundred  sports,  jocularities,  waggeries 
and  petits  jeux  innocens :  so  that  the  second  and  third 
floors  of  Number  6,  Lamb  Court,  Temple,  rang  with 
more  cheerfulness  and  laughter  than  had  been  known 
in  those  precincts  for  many  a  long  day. 

At  last,  after  about  ten  days  of  this  life,  one  eve- 
ning when  the  little  spy  of  the  court  came  out  to  take 
her  usual  post  of  observation  at  the  lamp,  there  was 
no  music  from  the  second-floor  window,  there  were  no 
lights  in  the  third-story  chambers,  the  windows  of 
each  were  open,  and  the  occupants  were  gone.  Mrs. 
Flanagan,  the  laundress,  told  Fanny  what  had  hap- 
pened. The  ladies  and  all  the  party  had  gone  to 
Richmond  for  change  of  air.  The  antique  travelling 
chariot  was  brought  out  again  and  cushioned  with 
many  pillows  for  Pen  and  his  mother;  and  Miss 
Laura  went  in  the  most  affable  manner  in  the  omnibus 
under  the  guardianship  of  Mr.  George  Warrington. 
He  came  back  and  took  possession  of  his  old  bed  that 
night  in  the  vacant  and  cheerless  chambers,  and  to  his 
old  books  and  his  old  pipes,  but  not  perhaps  to  his 
old  sleep. 

The  widow  had  left  a  jar  full  of  flowers  upon  his 
table,  prettily  arranged,  and  when  he  entered  they 
filled  the  solitary  room  with  odor.  They  were  memo- 
rials of  the  kind,  gentle  souls  who  had  gone  away,  and 
who  had  decorated  for  a  little  while  that  lonely, 
cheerless  place.    He  had  had  the  happiest  days  of  his 


PENDENNIS. 


33 


whole  life,  George  felt — he  knew  it  now  they  were 
just  gone :  he  went  and  took  up  the  flowers  and  put 
his  face  to  them,  smelt  them  —  perhaps  kissed  them. 
As  he  put  them  down,  he  rubbed  his  rough  hand 
across  his  eyes  with  a  bitter  word  and  laugh.  He 
would  have  given  his  whole  life  and  soul  to  win  that 
prize  which  Arthur  rejected.  Did  she  want  fame  ? 
He  would  have  won  it  for  her  :  —  devotion  ?  —  a 
great  heart  full  of  pent-up  tenderness  and  manly  love 
and  gentleness  was  there  for  her,  if  she  might  take  it. 
But  it  might  not  be.  Fate  had  ruled  otherwise. 
"Even  if  I  could,  she  would  not  have  me,"  George 
thought.  "  What  has  an  ugly,  rough  old  fellow  like 
me,  to  make  any  woman  like  him  ?  I 'm  getting  old, 
and  I 've  made  no  mark  in  life.  I 've  neither  good 
looks,  nor  youth,  nor  money,  nor  reputation.  A  man 
must  be  able  to  do  something  besides  stare  at  her  and 
offer  on  his  knees  his  uncouth  devotion,  to  make  a 
woman  like  him.  What  can  I  do  ?  Lots  of  young 
fellows  have  passed  me  in  the  race  —  what  they  call 
the  prizes  of  life  did  n't  seem  to  me  worth  the  trouble 
of  the  struggle.  But  for  her.  If  she  had  been  mine 
and  liked  a  diamond  —  ah  !  should  n't  she  have  worn 
it !  Psha,  what  a  fool  I  am  to  brag  of  what  I  would 
have  done  !  We  are  the  slaves  of  destiny.  Our  lots 
are  shaped  for  us,  and  mine  is  ordained  long  ago. 
Come,  let  us  have  a  pipe,  and  put  the  smell  of  these 
flowers  out  of  court.  Poor  little  silent  flowers ! 
You  '11  be  dead  to-morrow.  What  business  had  you 
to  show  your  red  cheeks  in  this  dingy  place  ? 99 

By  his  bed-side  George  found  a  new  Bible  which 
the  widow  had  placed  there,  with  a  note  inside  saying 
that  she  had  not  seen  the  book  amongst  his  collection 
in  a  room  where  she  had  spent  a  number  of  hours,  and 
wher*  God  had  vouchsafed  to  her  prayers  the  life  of 


34 


PENDEKNIS. 


her  son,  and  that  she  gave  to  Arthur's  friend  the  best 
thing  she  could,  and  besought  him  to  read  in  the  volume 
sometimes,  and  to  keep  it  as  a  token  of  a  grateful 
mother's  regard  and  affection.  Poor  George  mourn- 
fully kissed  the  book  as  he  had  done  the  flowers ;  and 
the  morning  found  him  still  reading  in  its  awful 
pages,  in  which  so  many  stricken  hearts,  in  which  so 
many  tender  and  faithful  souls  have  found  comfort 
under  calamity,  and  refuge  and  hope  in  affliction. 


CHAPTER  III. 

fanny's  occupation 's  gone. 

Good  Helen,  ever  since  her  son's  illness,  had  taken, 
as  we  have  seen,  entire  possession  of  the  young  man, 
of  his  drawers  and  closets  and  all  which  they  con- 
tained :  whether  shirts  that  wanted  buttons,  or  stock- 
ings that  required  mending,  or,  must  it  be  owned  ? 
letters  that  lay  amongst  those  articles  of  raiment, 
and  which  of  course  it  was  necessary  that  somebody 
should  answer  during  Arthur's  weakened  and  incapa- 
ble condition.  Perhaps  Mrs.  Pendennis  was  laudably 
desirous  to  have  some  explanations  about  the  dreadful 
Fanny  Bolton  mystery,  regarding  which  she  had  never 
breathed  a  word  to  her  son,  though  it  was  present 
in  her  mind  always,  and  occasioned  her  inexpressible 
anxiety  and  disquiet.  She  had  caused  the  brass 
knocker  to  be  screwed  off  the  inner  door  of  the 
chambers,  whereupon  the  postman's  startling  double 
rap  would,  as  she  justly  argued,  disturb  the  rest  of  her 
patient,  and  she  did  not  allow  him  to  see  any  letter 
which  arrived,  whether  from  boot-makers  who  impor- 
tuned him,  or  hatters  who  had  a  heavy  account  to 
make  up  against  next  Saturday,  and  would  be  very 
much  obliged  if  Mr.  Arthur  Pendennis  would  have  the 
kindness  to  settle,  etc.  Of  these  documents,  Pen,  who 
was  always  freehanded  and  careless,  of  course  had  his 
share,  and  though  no  great  one,  one  quite  enough  to 
alarm  his  scrupulous  and  conscientious  mother.  She 
had  some  savings  ;  Pen's  magnificent  self-denial,  and 


36 


PENDENNIS. 


her  own  economy,  amounting  from  her  great  simplicity 
and  avoidance  of  show  to  parsimony  almost,  had  ena- 
bled her  to  put  by  a  little  sum  of  money,  a  part  of 
which  she  delightedly  consecrated  to  the  paying  off 
the  young  gentleman's  obligations.  At  this  price, 
many  a  worthy  youth  and  respected  reader  would  hand 
over  his  correspondence  to  his  parents  ;  and  perhaps 
there  is  no  greater  test  of  a  man's  regularity  and  easi- 
ness of  conscience,  than  his  readiness  to  face  the  post- 
man. Blessed  is  he  who  is  made  happy  by  the  sound 
of  a  rat-tat !  The  good  are  eager  for  it,  but  the  naughty 
tremble  at  the  sound  thereof.  So  it  was  very  kind  of 
Mrs.  Pendennis  doubly  to  spare  Pen  the  trouble  of 
hearing  or  answering  letters  during  his  illness. 

There  could  have  been  nothing  in  the  young  man's 
chests  of  drawers  and  wardrobes  which  could  be  con- 
sidered as  inculpating  him  in  any  way,  nor  any  satis- 
factory documents  regarding  the  Fanny  Bolton  affair 
found  there,  for  the  widow  had  to  ask  her  brother-in- 
law  if  he  knew  anything  about  the  odious  transaction, 
and  the  dreadful  intrigue  in  which  her  son  was  en- 
gaged. When  they  were  at  Richmond  one  day,  and 
Pen  with  Warrington  had  taken  a  seat  on  a  bench  on 
the  terrace,  the  widow  kept  Major  Pendennis  in  con- 
sultation, and  laid  her  terrors  and  perplexities  before 
him,  such  of  them  at  least  (for  as  is  the  wont  of  men 
and  women,  she  did  not  make  quite  a  clean  confession, 
and  I  suppose  no  spendthrift  asked  for  a  schedule  of 
his  debts,  no  lady  of  fashion  asked  by  her  husband  for 
her  dressmaker's  bills  ever  sent  in  the  whole  of  them 
yet)  —  such,  we  say,  of  her  perplexities,  at  least,  as  she 
chose  to  confide  to  her  Director  for  the  time  being. 

When,  then,  she  asked  the  Major  what  course  she 
ought  to  pursue,  about  this  dreadful  —  this  horrid 
affair,  and  whether  he  knew  anything  regarding  it, 


PENDENNIS. 


37 


the  old  gentleman  puckered  up  his  face,  so  that  you 
could  not  tell  whether  he  was  smiling  or  not ;  gave 
the  widow  one  queer  look  with  his  little  eyes  ;  cast 
them  down  to  the  carpet  again,  and  said,  "  My  dear, 
good  creature,  I  don't  know  anything  about  it ;  and  I 
don't  wish  to  know  anything  about  it;  and,  as  you 
ask  me  my  opinion,  I  think  you  had  best  know 
nothing  about  it  too.  Young  men  will  be  young  men ; 
and,  begad,  my  good  ma'am,  if  you  think  our  boy 
is  a  Jo  —  " 

"Pray,  spare  me  this,"  Helen  broke  in,  looking 
very  stately. 

"My  dear  creature,  I  did  not  commence  the  con- 
versation, permit  me  to  say,"  the  Major  said,  bowing 
very  blandly. 

"  I  can't  bear  to  hear  such  a  sin  —  such  a  dreadful 
sin  —  spoken  of  in  such  a  way,"  the  widow  said,  with 
tears  of  annoyance  starting  from  her  eyes.  "  I  can't 
bear  to  think  that  my  boy  should  commit  such  a 
crime.  I  wish  he  had  died,  almost,  before  he  had 
done  it.  I  don't  know  how  I  survive  it  myself ;  for 
it  is  breaking  my  heart,  Major  Pendennis,  to  think 
that  his  father's  son  —  my  child  —  whom  I  remember 
so  good  —  oh,  so  good,  and  full  of  honor  !  —  should  be 
fallen  so  dreadfully  low,  as  to  —  as  to  —  " 

"As  to  flirt  with  a  little  grisette,  my  dear  creat- 
ure ?  "  said  the  Major.  "Egad,  if  all  the  mothers  in 
England  were  to  break  their  hearts  because  —  Nay, 
nay;  upon  my  word  and  honor,  now,  don't  agitate 
yourself,  don't  cry.  I  can't  bear  to  see  a  woman's 
tears  —  I  never  could  —  never.  But  how  do  we  know 
that  anything  serious  has  happened?  Has  Arthur 
said  anything?" 

"  His  silence  confirms  it,"  sobbed  Mrs.  Pendennis, 
behind  her  pocket-handkerchief. 


38 


PENDENNIS. 


"  Not  at  all.  There  are  subjects,  my  dear,  about 
which  a  young  fellow  cannot  surely  talk  to  his 
mamma,"  insinuated  the  brother-in-law. 

"  She  has  written  to  him,"  cried  the  lady,  behind 
the  cambric. 

"What,  before  he  was  ill  ?    Nothing  more  likely." 

"No,  since,"  the  mourner  with  the  batiste  mask 
gasped  out ;  "  not  before ;  that  is,  I  don't  think  so  — 
that  is,  I  —  " 

"Only  since;  and  you  have  —  yes,  I  understand. 
I  suppose  when  he  was  too  ill  to  read  his  own  cor- 
respondence, you  took  charge  of  it,  did  you  ?  " 

"I  am  the  most  unhappy  mother  in  the  world," 
cried  out  the  unfortunate  Helen. 

"  The  most  unhappy  mother  in  the  world,  because 
your  son  is  a  man  and  not  a  hermit !  Have  a  care, 
my  dear  sister.  If  you  have  suppressed  any  letters 
to  him,  you  may  have  done  yourself  a  great  injury ; 
and,  if  I  know  anything  of  Arthur's  spirit,  may  cause 
a  difference  between  him  and  you,  which  you  '11  rue 
all  your  life  —  a  difference  that 's  a  dev'lish  deal 
more  important,  my  good  madam,  than  the  little  — 
little  —  trumpery  cause  which  originated  it." 

"There  was  only  one  letter,"  broke  out  Helen — 
"only  a  very  little  one  —  only  a  few  words.  Here 
it  is  —  oh  —  how  can  you,  how  can  you  speak  so  ?  " 

When  the  good  soul  said  "  only  a  very  little  one," 
the  Major  could  not  speak  at  all,  so  inclined  was  he 
to  laugh,  in  spite  of  the  agonies  of  the  poor  soul  be- 
fore him,  and  for  whom  he  had  a  hearty  pity  and 
liking  too.  But  each  was  looking  at  the  matter  with 
his  or  her  peculiar  eyes  and  view  of  morals,  and  the 
Major's  morals,  as  the  reader  knows,  were  not  those 
of  an  ascetic. 

"  I  recommend  you,"  he  gravely  continued,  "  if  you 


PENDENNIS. 


39 


can,  to  seal  it  up  —  those  letters  ain't  unfrequently 
sealed  with  wafers  —  and  to  put  it  amongst  Pen's 
other  letters,  and  let  him  have  them  when  he  calls 
for  them.  Or  if  we  can't  seal  it,  we  mistook  it  for  a 
bill." 

"I  can't  tell  my  son  a  lie,"  said  the  widow.  It 
had  been  put  silently  into  the  letter-box  two  days 
previous  to  their  departure  from  the  Temple,  and  had 
been  brought  to  Mrs.  Pendennis  by  Martha.  She  had 
never  seen  Fanny's  handwriting,  of  course  ;  but  when 
the  letter  was  put  into  her  hands,  she  knew  the  au- 
thor at  once.  She  had  been  on  the  watch  for  that 
letter  every  day  since  Pen  had  been  ill.  She  had 
opened  some  of  his  other  letters  because  she  wanted 
to  get  at  that  one.  She  had  the  horrid  paper  poison- 
ing her  bag  at  that  moment.  She  took  it  out  and 
offered  it  to  her  brother-in-law. 

"  Arthur  Pendennis,  Esq."  he  read,  in  a  timid  little 
sprawling  handwriting,  and  with  a  sneer  on  his  face. 
"  No,  my  dear,  I  won't  read  any  more.  But  you,  who 
have  read  it,  may  tell  me  what  the  letter  contains  — 
only  prayers  for  his  health  in  bad  spelling  you  say  — 
and  a  desire  to  see  him  ?  Well  —  there 's  no  harm 
in  that.  And  as  you  ask  me"  —  here  the  Major 
began  to  look  a  little  queer  for  his  own  part,  and  put 
on  his  demure  look  —  "  as  you  ask  me,  my  dear,  for 
information,  why,  I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  —  ah 
—  that  —  Morgan,  my  man,  has  made  some  inquiries 
regarding  this  affair,  and  that  —  my  friend  Doctor 
Goodenough  also  looked  into  it  —  and  it  appears  that 
this  person  was  greatly  smitten  with  Arthur ;  that 
he  paid  for  her  and  took  her  to  Vauxhall  Gardens,  as 
Morgan  heard  from  an  old  acquaintance  of  Pen's  and 
ours,  an  Irish  gentleman,  who  was  very  nearly  once 
having  the  honor  of  being  the  —  from  an  Irishman, 


40 


PENDENNIS. 


in  fact ;  — that  the  girl's  father,  a  violent  man  of  in- 
toxicated habits,  has  beaten  her  mother,  who  persists 
in  declaring  her  daughter's  entire  innocence  to  her 
husband  on  the  one  hand,  while  on  the  other  she  told 
Goodenough  that  Arthur  had  acted  like  a  brute  to  her 
child.  And  so  you  see  the  story  remains  in  a  mys- 
tery. Will  you  have  it  cleared  up  ?  I  have  but  to 
ask  Pen,  and  he  will  tell  me  at  once  —  he  is  as  honor- 
able a  man  as  ever  lived." 

"Honorable!  "  said  the  widow,  with  bitter  scorn. 
"  Oh,  brother,  what  is  this  you  call  honor  ?  If  my 
boy  has  been  guilty,  he  must  marry  her.  I  would  go 
down  on  my  knees  and  pray  him  to  do  so." 

"  Good  God  !  are  you  mad  ?  "  screamed  out  the 
Major;  and  remembering  former  passages  in  Arthur's 
history  and  Helen's,  the  truth  came  across  his  mind 
that,  were  Helen  to  make  this  prayer  to  her  son,  he 
would  marry  the  girl :  he  was  wild  enough  and  obsti- 
nate enough  to  commit  any  folly  when  a  woman  he 
loved  was  in  the  case.  "  My  dear  sister,  have  you  lost 
your  senses  ?  "  he  continued  (after  an  agitated  pause, 
during  which  the  above  dreary  reflection  crossed  him); 
and  in  a  softened  tone,  "  What  right  have  we  to  sup- 
pose that  anything  has  passed  between  this  girl  and 
him  ?  Let 's  see  the  letter.  Her  heart  is  breaking ; 
pray,  pray,  write  to  me  —  home  unhappy  —  unkind 
father  —  your  nurse  —  poor  little  Fanny  —  spelt,  as 
you  say,  in  a  manner  to  outrage  all  sense  of  decorum. 
But,  good  heavens !  my  dear,  what  is  there  in  this  ? 
only  that  the  little  devil  is  making  love  to  him  still. 
Why  she  did  n't  come  into  his  chambers,  until  he  was 
so  delirous  that  he  didn't  know  her.  What-d'you- 
call-'em,  Flanagan,  the  laundress,  told  Morgan,  my 
man,  so.  She  came  in  company  of  an  old  fellow,  an 
old  Mr.  Bows,  who  came  most  kindly  down  to  Still- 


PENDENNIS. 


41 


brook  and  brought  me  away  —  by  the  way,  I  left  him 
in  the  cab,  and  never  paid  the  fare ;  and  dev'lish  kind 
it  was  of  him.    No,  there 's  nothing  in  the  story." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  Thank  Heaven  —  thank  God  ! " 
Helen  cried.  "  I  '11  take  the  letter  to  Arthur  and  ask 
him  now.  Look  at  him  there.  He 's  on  the  terrace 
with  Mr.  Warrington.  They  are  talking  to  some  chil- 
dren. My  boy  was  always  fond  of  children.  He 's 
innocent,  thank  God  —  thank  God  !  Let  me  go  to 
him." 

Old  Pendennis  had  his  own  opinion.  When  he 
briskly  took  the  not  guilty  side  of  the  case,  but  a 
moment  before,  very  likely  the  old  gentleman  had  a 
different  view  from  that  which  he  chose  to  advocate, 
and  judged  of  Arthur  by  what  he  himself  would  have 
done.  If  she  goes  to  Arthur,  and  he  speaks  the  truth, 
as  the  rascal  will,  it  spoils  all,  he  thought.  And  he 
tried  one  more  effort. 

"  My  dear,  good  soul,"  he  said,  taking  Helen's  hand 
and  kissing  it,  "  as  your  son  has  not  acquainted  you 
with  this  affair,  think  if  you  have  any  right  to  ex- 
amine it.  As  you  believe  him  to  be  a  man  of  honor, 
what  right  have  you  to  doubt  his  honor  in  this  in- 
stance. Who  is  his  accuser  ?  An  anonymous  scoun- 
drel who  has  brought  no  specific  charge  against  him. 
If  there  were  any  such,  wouldn't  the  girl's  parents 
have  come  forward  ?  He  is  not  called  upon  to  rebut, 
nor  you  to  entertain  an  anonymous  accusation ;  and 
as  for  believing  him  guilty  because  a  girl  of  that  rank 
happened  to  be  in  his  rooms  acting  as  nurse  to  him, 
begad  you  might  as  will  insist  upon  his  marrying 
that  dem'd  old  Irish  gin-drinking  laundress,  Mrs. 
Flanagan." 

The  widow  burst  out  laughing  through  her  tears  — • 
the  victory  was  gained  by  the  old  general. 


42 


PENDENNIS. 


"  Marry  Mrs.  Flanagan,  by  G-ed,"  lie  continued,  tap- 
ping her  slender  hand.  "  No.  The  boy  has  told  you 
nothing  about  it,  and  you  know  nothing  about  it.  The 
boy  is  innocent — of  course.  And  what,  my  good  soul, 
is  the  course  for  us  to  pursoo  ?  Suppose  he  is  at- 
tached to  this  girl  —  don't  look  sad  again,  it 's  merely 
a  supposition  —  and  begad  a  young  fellow  may  have 
an  attachment,  may  n't  he  ?  —  Directly  he  gets  well 
he  will  be  at  her  again." 

"  He  must  come  home  !  We  must  go  off  directly  to 
Fairoaks,"  the  widow  cried  out. 

"  My  good  creature,  he  '11  bore  himself  to  death  at 
Fairoaks.  He  '11  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  think  about 
his  passion  there.  There 's  no  place  in  the  world  for 
making  a  little  passion  into  a  big  one,  and  where  a 
fellow  feeds  on  his  own  thoughts,  like  a  lonely  coun- 
try-house where  there 's  nothing  to  do.  We  must 
occupy  him  :  amuse  him :  we  must  take  him  abroad  : 
he's  never  been  abroad  except  to  Paris  for  a  lark. 
We  must  travel  a  little.  He  must  have  a  nurse  with 
him,  to  take  great  care  of  him,  for  Goodenough  says 
he  had  a  dev'lish  narrow  squeak  of  it  (don't  look 
frightened),  and  so  you  must  come  and  watch:  and 
I  suppose  you  '11  take  Miss  Bell,  and  I  should  like  to 
usk  Warrington  to  come.  Arthur 's  dev'lish  fond  of 
Warrington.  He  can't  do  without  Warrington.  War- 
rington's family  is  one  of  the  oldest  in  England,  and 
he  is  one  of  the  best  young  fellows  I  ever  met  in  my 
life.    I  like  him  exceedingly." 

"Does  Mr.  Warrington  know  anything  about  this 
—  this  affair  ?  "  asked  Helen.  He  had  been  away, 
I  know,  for  two  months  before  it  happened  ;  Pen 
wrote  me  so." 

"  Not  a  word  —  I  —  I  We  asked  him  about  it.  I  Ve 
pumped  him.     He  never  heard  of  the  transaction, 


PENDENNIS. 


43 


never ;  I  pledge  you  my  word,"  cried  out  the  Major, 
in  some  alarm.  "And,  my  dear,  I  think  you  had 
much  best  not  talk  to  him  about  it  —  much  best  not 

—  of  course  not:  the  subject  is  most  delicate  and 
painful." 

The  simple  widow  took  her  brother's  hand  and 
pressed  it.  "  Thank  you,  brother,"  she  said.  "  You 
have  been  very,  very  kind  to  me.  You  have  given 
me  a  great  deal  of  comfort.  I  '11  go  to  my  room,  and 
think  of  what  you  have  said.    This  illness  and  these 

—  these  emotions  —  have  agitated  me  a  great  deal ; 
and  I 'm  not  very  strong,  you  know.  But  I  '11  go  and 
thank  God  that  my  boy  is  innocent.  He  is  innocent. 
Is  n't  he,  sir  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  dearest  creature,  yes,"  said  the  old  fellow, 
kissing  her  affectionately,  and  quite  overcome  by  her 
tenderness.  He  looked  after  her  as  she  retreated, 
with  a  fondness  which  was  rendered  more  piquant,  as 
it  were,  by  the  mixture  of  a  certain  scorn  which  ac- 
companied it.  "  Innocent ! "  he  said ;  "  I M  swear,  till 
I  was  black  in  the  face,  he  was  innocent,  rather  than 
give  that  good  soul  pain." 

Having  achieved  this  victory,  the  fatigued  and 
happy  warrior  laid  himself  down  on  the  sofa,  and 
put  his  yellow  silk  pocket-handkerchief  over  his  face? 
and  indulged  in  a  snug  little  nap,  of  which  the  dreams, 
no  doubt,  were  very  pleasant,  as  he  snored  with  re- 
freshing regularity.  The  young  men  sat,  meanwhile, 
dawdling  away  the  sunshiny  hours  on  the  terrace, 
very  happy,  and  Pen,  at  least,  very  talkative.  He 
was  narrating  to  Warrington  a  plan  for  a  new  novel, 
and  a  new  tragedy.  Warrington  laughed  at  the  idea 
of  his  writing  a  tragedy.  By  Jove,  he  would  show 
that  he  could ;  and  he  began  to  spout  some  of  the 
lines  of  his  play. 


44 


PENDENNIS. 


The  little  solo  on  the  wind  instrument  which  the 
Major  was  performing  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance 
of  Miss  Bell.  She  had  been  on  a  visit  to  her  old 
friend,  Lady  Eockminster,  who  had  taken  a  summer 
villa  in  the  neighborhood ;  and  who,  hearing  of  Ar- 
thur's illness,  and  his  mother's  arrival  at  Eichmond, 
had  visited  the  latter  ;  and,  for  the  benefit  of  the  for- 
mer, whom  she  didn't  like,  had  been  prodigal  of 
grapes,  partridges,  and  other  attentions.  For  Laura 
the  old  lady  had  a  great  fondness,  and  longed  that  she 
should  come  and  stay  with  her ;  but  Laura  could  not 
leave  her  mother  at  this  juncture.  Worn  out  by  con- 
stant watching  over  Arthur's  health,  Helen's  own  had 
suffered  very  considerably ;  and  Doctor  Goodenough 
had  had  reason  to  prescribe  for  her  as  well  as  for  his 
younger  patient. 

Old  Pendennis  started  up  on  the  entrance  of  the 
young  lady.  His  slumbers  were  easily  broken.  He 
made  her  a  gallant  speech  —  he  had  been  full  of  gal- 
lantry towards  her  of  late.  Where  had  she  been 
gathering  those  roses  which  she  wore  on  her  cheeks  ? 
How  happy  he  was  to  be  disturbed  out  of  his  dreams 
by  such  a  charming  reality  !  Laura  had  plenty  of 
humor  and  honesty;  and  these  two  caused  her  to 
have  on  her  side  something  very  like  a  contempt  for 
the  old  gentleman.  It  delighted  her  to  draw  out  his 
worldliness,  and  to  make  the  old  habitue  of  clubs  and 
drawing-rooms  tell  his  twaddling  tales  about  great 
folks,  and  expound  his  views  of  morals. 

Not  in  this  instance,  however,  was  she  disposed  to 
be  satirical.  She  had  been  to  drive  with  Lady  Eock- 
minster  in  the  Park,  she  said ;  and  she  had  brought 
home  game  for  Pen,  and  flowers  for  mamma.  She 
looked  very  grave  about  mamma.  She  had  just  been 
with  Mrs.  Pendennis.    Helen  was  very  much  worn, 


PEXDENXIS. 


45 


and  she  feared  she  was  very,  very  ill.  Her  large  eyes 
filled  with  tender  marks  of  the  sympathy  which 
she  felt  in  her  beloved  friend's  condition.  She  was 
alarmed  abont  her.  Could  not  that  good  —  that 
dear  Dr.  Goodenough  —  cure  her  ? 

"Arthur's  illness,  and  other  mental  anxiety,"  the 
Major  slowly  said,  "  had,  no  doubt,  shaken  Helen." 
A  burning  blush  upon  the  girl's  face  showed  that  she 
understood  the  old  man's  allusions.  But  she  looked 
him  full  in  the  face  and  made  no  reply.  "  He  might 
have  spared  me  that,"  she  thought.  "What  is  he 
aiming  at  in  recalling  that  shame  to  me  ?  " 

That  he  had  an  aim  in  view  is  very  possible.  The 
old  diplomatist  seldom  spoke  without  some  such  end. 
Doctor  Goodenough  had  talked  to  him,  he  said,  about 
their  dear  friend's  health,  and  she  wanted  rest  and 
change  of  scene  —  yes,  change  of  scene.  Painful  cir- 
cumstances which  had  occurred  must  be  forgotten  and 
never  alluded  to  ;  he  begged  pardon  for  even  hinting 
at  them  to  Miss  Bell  —  he  never  should  do  so  again  — 
nor,  he  was  sure,  would  she.  Everything  must  be 
done  to  soothe  and  comfort  their  friend,  and  his  pro- 
posal was  that  they  should  go  abroad  for  the  autumn 
to  a  watering-place  in  the  Rhine  neighborhood,  where 
Helen  might  rally  her  exhausted  spirits,  and  Arthur 
try  and  become  a  new  man.  Of  course,  Laura  would 
not  forsake  her  mother. 

Of  course  not.  It  was  about  Helen,  and  Helen 
only  —  that  is,  about  Arthur  too  for  her  sake,  that 
Laura  was  anxious.  She  would  go  abroad  or  any- 
where with  Helen. 

And  Helen  having  thought  the  matter  over  for  an 
hour  in  her  room,  had  by  that  time  grown  to  be  as 
anxious  for  the  tour  as  any  school-boy,  who  has  been 
reading  a  book  of  voyages,  is  eager  to  go  to  sea. 


4G 


PENDENNIS, 


Whither  should  they  go  ?  the  farther  the  better  —  to 
some  place  so  remote  that  even  recollection  could  not 
follow  them  thither  :  so  delightful  that  Pen  should 
never  want  to  leave  it  —  anywhere  so  that  he  could 
be  happy.  She  opened  her  desk  with  trembling  fin- 
gers and  took  out  her  banker's  book,  and  counted  up 
her  little  savings.  If  more  was  wanted,  she  had  the 
diamond  cross.  She  would  borrow  from  Laura  again. 
"  Let  us  go  —  let  us  go,"  she  thought ;  "  directly  he 
can  bear  the  journey  let  us  go  away.  Come,  kind 
Doctor  Goodenough  —  come  quick,  and  give  us  leave 
to  quit  England." 

The  good  Doctor  drove  over  to  dine  with  them  that 
very  day.  "  If  you  agitate  yourself  so,"  he  said  to 
her,  "  and  if  your  heart  beats  so,  and  if  you  persist  in 
being  so  anxious  about  a  young  gentleman  who  is  get- 
ting well  as  fast  as  he  can,  we  shall  have  you  laid  up, 
and  Miss  Laura  to  watch  you ;  and  then  it  will  be 
her  turn  to  be  ill,  and  I  should  like  to  know  how  the 
deuce  a  doctor  is  to  live  who  is  obliged  to  come  and 
attend  you  all  for  nothing  ?  Mrs.  Goodenough  is 
already  jealous  of  you,  and  says,  with  perfect  jus- 
tice, that  I  fall  in  love  with  my  patients.  And  you 
must  please  to  get  out  of  the  country  as  soon  as 
ever  you  can,  that  I  may  have  a  little  peace  in  my 
family." 

When  the  plan  of  going  abroad  was  proposed  to 
Arthur,  it  was  received  by  that  gentleman  with  the 
greatest  alacrity  and  enthusiasm.  He  longed  to  be 
off  at  once.  He  let  his  mustachios  grow  from  that 
very  moment,  in  order,  I  suppose,  that  he  might  get 
his  mouth  into  training  for  a  perfect  French  and  Ger- 
man pronunciation ;  and  he  was  seriously  disquieted 
in  his  mind  because  the  mustachios,  when  they  came, 
were  of  a  decidedly  red  color.    He  had  looked  for- 


PENDENNIS. 


47 


ward  to  an  autumn  at  Fairoaks  ;  and  perhaps  the  idea 
of  passing  two  or  three  months  there  did  not  amuse 
the  young  man.  "  There  is  not  a  soul  to  speak  to  in 
the  place,"  he  said  to  Warrington.  "I  can't  stand 
old  Portman's  sermons,  and  pompous  after-dinner 
conversation.  I  know  all  old  Glanders's  stories  about 
'  the  Peninsular  war.  The  Claverings  are  the  only 
Christian  people  in  the  neighborhood,  and  they  are 
not  to  be  at  home  before  Christmas,  my  uncle  says : 
besides,  Warrington,  I  want  to  get  out  of  the  country. 
Whilst  you  were  away,  confound  it,  I  had  a  tempta- 
tion, from  which  I  am  very  thankful  to  have  escaped, 
and  which  I  count  that  even  my  illness  came  very 
luckily  to  put  an  end  to."  And  here  he  narrated  to 
his  friend  the  circumstances  of  the  Vauxhall  affair, 
with  which  the  reader  is  already  acquainted. 

Warrington  looked  very  grave  when  he  heard  this 
story.  Putting  the  moral  delinquency  out  of  the 
question,  he  was  extremely  glad  for  Arthur's  sake 
that  the  latter  had  escaped  from  a  danger  which 
might  have  made  his  whole  life  wretched ;  "  which 
certainly,"  said  Warrington,  "  would  have  occasioned 
the  wretchedness  and  ruin  of  the  other  party.  And 
your  mother  and  —  and  your  friends  —  what  a  pain  it 
would  have  been  to  them !  "  urged  Pen's  companion, 
little  knowing  what  grief  and  annoyance  these  good 
people  had  already  suffered. 

"  Not  a  word  to  my  mother !  "  Pen  cried  out,  in  a 
state  of  great  alarm.  "  She  would  never  get  over  it. 
An  esclandre  of  that  sort  would  kill  her,  I  do  believe. 
And,"  he  added,  with  a  knowing  air,  and  as  if,  like  a 
young  rascal  of  a  Lovelace,  he  had  been  engaged  in 
what  are  called  affaires  de  cceur  all  his  life ;  "  the 
best  way  when  a  danger  of  that  sort  menaces,  is  not 
to  face  it,  but  to  turn  one's  back  on  it  and  run." 


48 


PENDENNIS. 


"  And  were  you  very  much  smitten  ?  "  Warrington 
asked. 

"  Hm  ! "  said  Lovelace.  "  She  dropped  her  h's,  but 
she  was  a  dear  little  girl." 

O  Clarissas  of  this  life,  O  you  poor  little  ignorant 
vain  foolish  maidens !  if  you  did  but  know  the  way  in 
which  the  Lovelaces  speak  of  you:  if  you  could  but 
hear  Jack  talking  to  Tom  across  the  coffee-room  of  a 
Club ;  or  see  Ned  taking  your  poor  little  letters  out 
of  his  cigar-case,  and  handing  them  over  to  Charley, 
and  Billy,  and  Harry  across  the  mess-room  table,  you 
would  not  be  so  eager  to  write,  or  so  ready  to  listen  t 
There 's  a  sort  of  crime  which  is  not  complete  unless 
the  lucky  rogue  boasts  of  it  afterwards ;  and  the  man 
who  betrays  your  honor  in  the  first  place,  is  pretty 
sure,  remember  that,  to  betray  your  secret  too. 

"  It 's  hard  to  fight,  and  it 's  easy  to  fall,"  Warring- 
ton said  gloomily.  "And  as  you  say,  Pendennis, 
when  a  danger  like  this  is  imminent,  the  best  way  is 
to  turn  your  back  on  it  and  run." 

AftGr  this  little  discourse  upon  a  subject  about 
which  Pen  would  have  talked  a  great  deal  more  elo- 
quently a  month  back,  the  conversation  reverted  to 
the  plans  for  going  abroad,  and  Arthur  eagerly 
pressed  his  friend  to  be  of  the  party.  Warrington 
was  a  part  of  the  family  —  a  part  of  the  cure.  Ar- 
thur said  he  should  not  have  half  the  pleasure  with- 
out Warrington. 

But  George  said  No,  he  could  n't  go.  He  must  stop 
at  home  and  take  Pen's  place.  The  other  remarked 
that  that  was  needless,  for  Shandon  was  now  come 
back  to  London,  and  Arthur  was  entitled  to  a  holiday. 

"Don't  press  me,"  Warrington  said,  "I  can't  go. 
I 've  particular  engagements.  I 'm  best  at  home. 
I've  not  got  the  money  to  travel,  that's  the  long 


PENDENNIS. 


49 


and  short  of  it  —  for  travelling  costs  money,  you 
know." 

This  little  obstacle  seemed  fatal  to  Pen.  He  men- 
tioned it  to  his  mother :  Mrs.  Pendennis  was  very 
sorry ;  Mr.  Warrington  had  been  exceedingly  kind ; 
but  she  supposed  he  knew  best  about  his  affairs. 
And  then,  no  doubt,  she  reproached  herself  for  selfish- 
ness in  wishing  to  carry  the  boy  off  and  have  him  to 
herself  altogether. 

"  What  is  this  I  hear  from  Pen,  my  dear  Mr.  War- 
rington ? "  the  Major  asked  one  day,  when  the  pair 
were  alone  and  after  Warrington's  objection  had  been 
stated  to  him.  "  Not  go  with  us  ?  We  can't  hear  of 
such  a  thing  —  Pen  won't  get  well  without  you.  I 
promise  you,  I 'm  not  going  to  be  his  nurse.  He 
must  have  somebody  with  him  that's  stronger  and 
gayer  and  better  able  to  amuse  him  than  a  rheumatic 
old  fogy  like  me.  I  shall  go  to  Carlsbad  very  likely, 
when  I 've  seen  you  people  settle  down.  Travelling 
costs  nothing  now-a-days  —  or  so  little  !  And  —  and 
pray,  Warrington,  I  remember  that  I  was  your  father's 
very  old  friend,  and  if  you  and  your  brother  are  not 
on  such  terms  as  to  enable  you  to  —  to  anticipate  your 
younger  brother's  allowance,  I  beg  you  to  make  me 
your  banker,  for  has  n't  Pen  been  getting  into  your 
debt  these  three  weeks  past,  during  which  you  have 
been  doing  what  he  informs  me  is  his  work,  with  such 
exemplary  talent  and  genius,  begad  ?  " 

Still,  in  spite  of  this  kind  offer  and  unheard-of  gen- 
erosity on  the  part  of  the  Major,  George  Warrington 
refused,  and  said  he  would  stay  at  home.  But  it  was 
with  a  faltering  voice  and  an  irresolute  accent  which 
showed  how  much  he  would  like  to  go,  though  his 
tongue  persisted  in  saying  nay. 


50 


PENDENNIS. 


But  the  Major's  persevering  benevolence  was  not  to 
be  balked  in  this  way.  At  the  tea-table  that  evening, 
Helen  happening  to  be  absent  from  the  room  for  the 
moment,  looking  for  Pen  who  had  gone  to  roost,  old 
Penclennis  returned  to  the  charge,  and  rated  Warring- 
ton for  refusing  to  join  in  their  excursion.  "Is  n't  it 
ungallant,  Miss  Bell  ?  "  he  said,  turning  to  that  young 
lady.  "  Is  n't  it  unfriendly  ?  Here  we  have  been  the 
happiest  party  in  the  world,  and  this  odious  selfish 
creature  breaks  it  up ! " 

Miss  Bell's  long  eyelashes  looked  down  towards  he* 
tea-cup :  and  Warrington  blushed  hugely  but  did  not 
speak.  Neither  did  Miss  Bell  speak :  but  when  he 
blushed  she  blushed  too. 

"  You  ask  him  to  come,  my  dear,"  said  the  benevo- 
lent old  gentleman,  "  and  then  perhaps  he  will  listen 
to  you  —  " 

"  Why  should  Mr.  Warrington  listen  to  me  ?  "  asked 
the  young  lady,  putting  the  query  to  her  tea-spoon 
seemingly,  and  not  to  the  Major. 

"Ask  him j  you  have  not  asked  him,"  said  Pen's 
artless  uncle. 

"  I  should  be  very  glad,  indeed,  if  Mr.  Warrington 
would  come,"  remarked  Laura  to  the  tea-spoon. 

"  Would  you  ?  "  said  George. 

She  looked  up  and  said  "Yes."  Their  eyes  met. 
"  I  will  go  anywhere  you  ask  me,  or  do  anything," 
said  George  lowly,  and  forcing  out  the  words  as  if 
they  gave  him  pain. 

Old  Pendennis  was  delighted;  the  affectionate  old 
creature  clapped  his  hands  and  cried,  "  Bravo !  bravo ! 
It 's  a  bargain  —  a  bargain,  begad  !  Shake  hands  on 
it,  young  people !  "  And  Laura,  with  a  look  full  of 
tender  brightness,  put  out  her  hand  to  Warrington. 
He  took  hers ;  his  face  indicated  a  strange  agitation. 


PENDENNIS. 


51 


He  seemed  to  be  about  to  speak,  when,  from  Pen's 
neighboring  room  Helen  entered,  looking  at  them  as 
the  candle  which  she  held  lighted  her  pale  frightened 
face. 

Laura  blushed  more  red  than  ever  and  withdrew 
her  hand. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  Helen  asked. 

"  It 's  a  bargain  we  have  been  making,  my  dear  crea- 
ture," said  the  Major  in  his  most  caressing  voice. 
"We  have  just  bound  over  Mr.  Warrington  in  a 
promise  to  come  abroad  with  us." 

"  Indeed  ! "  Helen  said. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

IN  WHICH  FANNY  ENGAGES  *A  NEW  MEDICAL  MAN. 

Could  Helen  have  suspected  that,  with  Pen's  re- 
turning strength,  his  unhappy  partiality  for  little 
Fanny  would  also  reawaken  ?  Though  she  never 
spoke  a  word  regarding  that  young  person,  after  her 
conversation  with  the  Major,  and  though,  to  all  ap- 
pearance, she  utterly  ignored  Fanny's  existence,  yet 
Mrs.  Pendennis  kept  a  particularly  close  watch  upon 
all  Master  Arthur's  actions ;  on  the  plea  of  ill-health, 
would  scarcely  let  him  out  of  her  sight ;  and  was  es- 
pecially anxious  that  he  should  be  spared  the  trouble 
of  all  correspondence  for  the  present  at  least.  Very 
likely  Arthur  looked  at  his  own  letters  with  some 
tremor ;  very  likely,  as  he  received  them  at  the  family 
table,  feeling  his  mother's  watch  upon  him  (though 
the  good  soul's  eye  seemed  fixed  upon  her  tea-cup  or 
her  book),  he  expected  daily  to  see  a  little  hand- 
writing, which  he  would  have  known,  though  he  had 
never  seen  it  yet,  and  his  heart  beat  as  he  received 
the  letters  to  his  address.  Was  he  more  pleased  or 
annoyed,  that,  day  after  day,  his  expectations  were 
not  realized;  and  was  his  mind  relieved,  that  there 
came  no  letter  from  Fanny  ?  Though,  no  doubt,  in 
these  matters,  when  Lovelace  is  tired  of  Clarissa  (or 
the  contrary),  it  is  best  for  both  parties  to  break  at 
once,  and  each,  after  the  failure  of  the  attempt  at 
union,  to  go  his  own  way,  and  pursue  his  course 
through  life  solitary  ;  yet  our  self-love,  or  our  pity,  or 


PENDENNIS. 


53 


our  sense  of  decency,  does  not  like  that  sudden  bank- 
ruptcy. Before  we  announce  to  the  world  that  our 
firm  of  Lovelace  and  Co.  can't  meet  its  engagements, 
we  try  to  make  compromises ;  we  have  mournful 
meetings  of  partners :  we  delay  the  putting  up  of  the 
shutters,  and  the  dreary  announcement  of  the  failure. 
It  must  come :  but  we  pawn  our  jewels  to  keep  things 
going  a  little  longer.  On  the  whole,  I  dare  say,  Pen 
was  rather  annoyed  that  he  had  no  remonstrances 
from  Fanny.  What !  could  she  part  from  him,  and 
never  so  much  as  once  look  round?  could  she  sink, 
and  never  once  hold  a  little  hand  out,  or  cry,  "  Help, 
Arthur  ! "  Well,  well :  they  don't  all  go  down  who 
venture  on  that  voyage.  Some  few  drown  when  the 
vessel  founders ;  but  most  are  only  ducked,  and 
scramble  to  shore.  And  the  reader's  experience  of 
A.  Pendennis,  Esquire,  of  the  Upper  Temple,  will 
enable  him  to  state  whether  that  gentleman  belonged 
to  the  class  of  persons  who  were  likely  to  sink  or  to 
swim. 

Though  Pen  was  as  yet  too  weak  to  walk  half  a 
mile ;  and  might  not,  on  account  of  his  precious 
health,  be  trusted  to  take  a  drive  in  a  carriage  by 
himself,  and  without  a  nurse  in  attendance ;  yet 
Helen  could  not  keep  watch  over  Mr.  Warrington 
too,  and  had  no  authority  to  prevent  that  gentleman 
from  going  to  London  if  business  called  him  thither. 
Indeed,  if  he  had  gone  and  stayed,  perhaps  the  widow, 
from  reasons  of  her  own,  would  have  been  glad ;  but 
she  checked  these  selfish  wishes  as  soon  as  she 
ascertained  or  owned  them;  and,  remembering  War- 
rington's great  regard  and  services,  and  constant 
friendship  for  her  boy,  received  him  as  a  member  of 
her  family  almost,  with  her  usual  melancholy  kind- 
ness and  submissive  acquiescence.    Yet  somehow,  one 


54 


PENDENN1S. 


morning  when  his  affairs  called  him  to  town,  she 
divined  what  Warrington's  errand  was,  and  that  he 
was  gone  to  London  to  get  news  about  Fanny  for 
Pen. 

Indeed,  Arthur  had  had  some  talk  with  his  friend, 
and  told  him  more  at  large  what  his  adventures  had 
been  with  Fanny  (adventures  which  the  reader  knows 
already),  and  what  were  his  feelings  respecting  her. 
He  was  very  thankful  that  he  had  escaped  the  great 
danger,  to  which  Warrington  said  Amen  heartily; 
that  he  had  no  great  fault  wherewith  to  reproach  him- 
self in  regard  of  his  behavior  to  her,  but  that  if  they 
parted,  as  they  must,  he  would  be  glad  to  say  a  God 
bless  her,  and  to  hope  that  she  would  remember  him 
kindly.  In  his  discourse  with  Warrington  he  spoke 
upon  these  matters  with  so  much  gravity,  and  so  much 
emotion,  that  George,  who  had  pronounced  himself 
most  strongly  for  the  separation  too,  began  to  fear 
that  his  friend  was  not  so  well  cured  as  he  boasted  of 
being;  and  that,  if  the  two  were  to  come  together 
again,  all  the  danger  and  the  temptation  might  have 
to  be  fought  once  more.  And  with  what  result  ?  "  It 
is  hard  to  struggle,  Arthur,  and  it  is  easy  to  fall," 
Warrington  said :  "  and  the  best  courage  for  us  poor 
wretches  is  to  fly  from  danger.  I  would  not  have 
been  what  I  am  now,  had  I  practised  what  I  preach." 

"  And  what  did  you  practise,  George  ?  "  Pen  asked 
eagerly.  "  I  knew  there  was  something.  Tell  us 
about  it,  Warrington." 

"  There  was  something  that  can't  be  mended,  and 
that  shattered  my  whole  fortunes  early,"  Warrington 
answered.  "I  said  I  would  tell  you  about  it  some 
day,  Pen;  and  will,  but  not  now.  Take  the  moral 
without  the  fable  now,  Pen,  my  boy  :  and  if  you  want 
to  see  a  man  whose  whole  life  has  been  Wrecked,  by 


PENDENNIS. 


55 


an  unlucky  rock  against  which  he  struck  as  a  boy  — ■ 
here  he  is,  Arthur,  and  so  I  warn  you." 

We  have  shown  how  Mr.  Huxter,  in  writing  home 
to  his  Clavering  friends,  mentioned  that  there  was  a 
fashionable  club  in  London  of  which  he  was  an  atten- 
dant, and  that  he  was  there  in  the  habit  of  meeting 
an  Irish  officer  of  distinction,  who,  amongst  other 
news,  had  given  that  intelligence  regarding  Penden- 
nis  which  the  young  surgeon  had  transmitted  to 
Clavering.  This  club  was  no  other  than  the  Back 
Kitchen,  where  the  disciple  of  Saint  Bartholomew 
was  accustomed  to  meet  the  General,  the  peculiarities 
of  whose  brogue,  appearance,  disposition,  and  general 
conversation,  greatly  diverted  many  young  gentlemen 
who  used  the  Back  Kitchen  as  a  place  of  nightly  en- 
tertainment and  refreshment.  Huxter,  who  had  a  fine 
natural  genius  for  mimicking  everything,  whether  it 
was  a  favorite  tragic  or  comic  actor,  a  cock  on  a  dung- 
hill, a  corkscrew  going  into  a  bottle  and  a  cork  issuing 
thence,  or  an  Irish  officer  of  genteel  connections  who 
offered  himself  as  an  object  of  imitation  with  only 
too  much  readiness,  talked  his  talk,  and  twanged  his 
poor  old  long-bow  whenever  drink,  a  hearer,  and  an 
opportunity  occurred,  studied  our  friend  the  General 
with  peculiar  gusto,  and  drew  the  honest  fellow  out 
many  a  night.  A  bait,  consisting  of  sixpennyworth 
of  brandy-and-water,  the  worthy  old  man  was  sure  to 
swallow :  and  under  the  influence  of  this  liquor,  who 
was  more  happy  than  he  to  tell  his  stories  of  his 
daughter's  triumphs  and  his  own,  in  love,  war,  drink, 
and  polite  society  ?  Thus  Huxter  was  enabled  to 
present  to  his  friends  many  pictures  of  Costigan :  of 
Costigan  fighting  a  jewel  in  the  Phaynix — of  Costi- 
gan and  his  interview  with  the  Juke  of  York  —  of 


56 


PENDENNIS. 


Costigan  at  his  sonunlaw's  teeble,  surrounded  by  the 
nobilitee  of  his  countree  —  of  Costigan,  when  crying 
drunk,  at  which  time  he  was  in  the  habit  of  confi- 
dentially lamenting  his  daughter's  ingratichewd,  and 
stating  that  his  gray  hairs  were  hastening  to  a  pray- 
machure  greeve.  And  thus  our  friend  was  the  means 
of  bringing  a  number  of  young  fellows  to  the  Back 
Kitchen,  who  consumed  the  landlord's  liquors  whilst 
they  relished  the  General's  peculiarities,  so  that  mine 
host  pardoned  many  of  the  latter's  foibles,  in  consid- 
eration of  the  good  which  they  brought  to  his  house. 
Not  the  highest  position  in  life  was  this  certainly,  or 
one  which,  if  we  had  a  reverence  for  an  old  man,  we 
would  be  anxious  that  he  should  occupy :  but  of  this 
aged  buffoon  it  may  be  mentioned  that  he  had  no 
particular  idea  that  his  condition  of  life  was  not  a 
high  one,  and  that  in  his  whiskeyed  blood  there  was 
not  a  black  drop,  nor  in  his  muddled  brains  a  bitter 
feeling,  against  any  mortal  being.  Even  his  child, 
his  cruel  Emily,  he  would  have  taken  to  his  heart  and 
forgiven  with  tears ;  and  what  more  can  one  say  of 
the  Christian  charity  of  a  man  than  that  he  is  actually 
ready  to  forgive  those  who  have  done  him  every  kind- 
ness, and  with  whom  he  is  wrong  in  a  dispute  ? 

There  was  some  idea  amongst  the  young  men  who 
frequented  the  Back  Kitchen,  and  made  themselves 
merry  with  the  society  of  Captain  Costigan,  that  the 
Captain  made  a  mystery  regarding  his  lodgings  for 
fear  of  duns,  or  from  a  desire  of  privacy,  and  lived 
in  some  wonderful  place.  Nor  would  the  landlord 
of  the  premises,  when  questioned  upon  this  subject, 
answer  any  inquiries  ;  his  maxim  being  that  he  only 
knew  gentlemen  who  frequented  that  room,  in  that 
room ;  that  when  they  quitted  that  room,  having 
paid  their  scores  as  gentlemen,  and  behaved  as  gen- 


PENDENNIS. 


57 


tlemen,  his  communication  with  them  ceased ;  and 
that,  as  a  gentleman  himself,  he  thought  it  was  only 
impertinent  curiosity  to  ask  where  any  other  gentle- 
man lived.  Costigan,  in  his  most  intoxicated  and 
confidential  moments,  also  evaded  any  replies  to 
questions  or  hints  addressed  to  him  on  this  subject : 
there  was  no  particular  secret  about  it,  as  we  have 
seen,  who  have  had  more  than  once  the  honor  of 
entering  his  apartments,  but  in  the  vicissitudes  of  a 
long  life  he  had  been  pretty  often  in  the  habit  of  re- 
siding in  houses  where  privacy  was  necessary  to  his 
comfort,  and  where  the  appearance  of  some  visitors 
would  have  brought  him  anything  but  pleasure. 
Hence  all  sorts  of  legends  were  formed  by  wags  or 
credulous  persons  respecting  his  place  of  abode.  It 
was  stated  that  he  slept  habitually  in  a  watch-box  in 
the  City  ;  in  a  cab  at  a  mews,  where  a  cab  proprietor 
gave  him  a  shelter :  in  the  Duke  of  York's  Column, 
etc.,  the  wildest  of  these  theories  being  put  abroad 
by  the  facetious  and  imaginative  Huxter.  For 
Huxey,  when  not  silenced  by  the  company  of 
"  swells,"  and  when  in  the  society  of  his  own  friends, 
was  a  very  different  fellow  to  the  youth  whom  we 
have  seen  cowed  by  Pen's  impertinent  airs,  and, 
adored  by  his  family  at  home,  was  the  life  and  soul 
of  the  circle  whom  he  met,  either  round  the  festive 
board  or  the  dissecting-table. 

On  one  brilliant  September  morning,  as  Huxter 
was  regaling  himself  with  a  cup  of  coffee  at  a  stall 
in  Covent  Garden,  having  spent  a  delicious  night 
dancing  at  Vauxhall,  he  spied  the  General  reeling 
down  Henrietta  Street,  with  a  crowd  of  hooting 
blackguard  boys  at  his  heels,  who  had  left  their 
beds  under  the  arches  of  the  river  betimes,  and  were 
prowling  about  already  for  breakfast,  and  the  strange 


58 


PENDENNIS. 


livelihood  of  the  day.  The  poor  old  General  was  not 
in  that  condition  when  the  sneers  and  jokes  of  these 
young  beggars  had  much  effect  upon  him:  the  cab- 
men and  watermen  at  the  cab-stand  knew  him,  and 
passed  their  comments  upon  him :  the  policemen 
gazed  after  him,  and  warned  the  boys  off  him,  with 
looks  of  scorn  and  pity  :  what  did  the  scorn  and  pity 
of  men,  the  jokes  of  ribald  children,  matter  to  the 
General  ?  He  reeled  along  the  street  with  glazed 
eyes,  having  just  sense  enough  to  know  whither  he 
was  bound,  and  to  pursue  his  accustomed  beat  home- 
wards. He  went  to  bed  not  knowing  how  he  had 
reached  it,  as  often  as  any  man  in  London.  He  woke 
and  found  himself  there,  and  asked  no  questions  ;  and 
he  was  tacking  about  on  this  daily  though  perilous 
voyage,  when,  from  his  station  at  the  coffee-stall, 
Huxter  spied  him.  To  note  his  friend,  to  pay  his 
twopence  (indeed,  he  had  but  eightpence  left,  or  he 
would  have  had  a  cab  from  Vauxhall  to  take  him 
home),  was  with  the  eager  Huxter  the  work  of  an 
instant  —  Costigan  dived  down  the  alleys  by  Drury- 
lane  Theatre,  where  gin-shops,  oyster-shops,  and 
theatrical  wardrobes  abound,  the  proprietors  of  which 
were  now  asleep  behind  their  shutters,  as  the  pink 
morning  lighted  up  their  chimneys ;  and  through 
these  courts  Huxter  followed  the  General,  until  he 
reached  Oldcastle  Street,  in  which  is  the  gate  of 
Shepherd's  Inn. 

Here,  just  as  he  was  within  sight  of  home,  a  luck- 
less slice  of  orange  peel  came  between  the  General's 
heel  and  the  pavement,  and  caused  the  poor  old  fel- 
low to  fall  backwards. 

Huxter  ran  up  to  him  instantly,  and  after  a  pause, 
during  which  the  veteran,  giddy  with  his  fall  and  his 
previous  whiskey,  gathered,  as  he  best  might,  his 


The  Captain  won't  go  Home  till  Morntngl 


PENDENNI9- 


59 


dizzy  brains  together,  the  young  surgeon  lifted  up  the 
limping  General,  and  very  kindly  and  good-naturedly 
offered  to  conduct  him  to  his  home.  For  some  time, 
and  in  reply  to  the  queries  which  the  student  of  med- 
icine put  to  him,  the  muzzy  General  refused  to  say 
where  his  lodgings  were,  and  declared  that  they  were 
hard  by,  and  that  he  could  reach  them  without  diffi- 
culty ;  and  he  disengaged  himself  from  Huxter's  arm, 
and  made  a  rush,  as  if  to  get  to  his  own  home  unat- 
tended :  but  he  reeled  and  lurched  so,  that  the  young 
surgeon  insisted  upon  accompanying  him,  and,  with 
many  soothing  expressions  and  cheering  and  consola- 
tory phrases,  succeeded  in  getting  the  General's  dirty 
old  hand  under  what  he  called  his  own  fin,  and  led 
the  old  fellow,  moaning  piteously,  across  the  street. 
He  stopped  when  he  came  to  the  ancient  gate,  orna- 
mented with  the  armorial  bearings  of  the  venerable 
Shepherd.  u  Here  't  is,"  said  he,  drawing  up  at  the 
portal,  and  he  made  a  successful  pull  at  the  gate-bell, 
which  presently  brought  out  old  Mr.  Bolton,  the 
porter,  scowling  fiercely,  and  grumbling  as  he  was 
used  to  do  every  morning  when  it  became  his  turn  to 
let  in  that  early  bird. 

Costigan  tried  to  hold  Bolton  for  a  moment  in 
genteel  conversation,  but  the  other  surlily  would  not. 
"  Don't  bother  me,"  he  said  ;  "  go  to  your  hown  bed, 
Capting,  and  don't  keep  honest  men  out  of  theirs." 
So  the  Captain  tacked  across  the  square  and  reached 
his  own  staircase,  up  which  he  stumbled  with  the 
worthy  Huxter  at  his  heels.  Costigan  had  a  key  of 
his  own,  which  Huxter  inserted  into  the  keyhole  for 
him,  so  that  there  was  no  need  to  call  up  little  Mr. 
Bows  from  the  sleep  into  which  the  old  musician  had 
not  long  since  fallen,  and  Huxter  having  aided  to 
disrobe  his  tipsy  patient,  and  ascertained  that  no 


60 


PENDENNIS. 


bones  were  broken,  helped  him  to  bed,  and  applied 
compresses  and  water  to  one  of  his  knees  and  shins, 
which,  with  the  pair  of  trousers  which  encased  them, 
Costigan  had  severely  torn  in  his  fall.  At  the  Gen- 
eral's age,  and  with  his  habit  of  body,  such  wounds 
as  he  had  inflicted  on  himself  are  slow  to  heal :  a 
good  deal  of  inflammation  ensued,  and  the  old  fellow 
lay  ill  for  some  days  suffering  both  pain  and  fever. 

Mr.  Huxter  undertook  the  case  of  his  interesting 
patient  with  great  confidence  and  alacrity,  and  con- 
ducted it  with  becoming  skill.  He  visited  his  friend 
day  after  day,  and  consoled  him  with  lively  rattle 
and  conversation,  for  the  absence  of  the  society  which 
Costigan  needed,  and  of  which  he  was  an  ornament ; 
and  he  gave  special  instructions  to  the  invalid's  nurse 
about  the  quantity  of  whiskey  which  the  patient  was 
to  take  —  instructions  which,  as  the  poor  old  fellow 
could  not  for  many  days  get  out  of  his  bed  or  sofa 
himself,  he  could  not  by  any  means  infringe.  Bows, 
Mrs.  Bolton,  and  our  little  friend  Fanny,  when  able 
to  do  so,  officiated  at  the  General's  bedside,  and  the 
old  warrior  was  made  as  comfortable  as  possible  un- 
der his  calamity. 

Thus  Huxter,  whose  affable  manners  and  social 
turn  made  him  quickly  intimate  with  persons  in 
whose  society  he  fell,  became  pretty  soon  intimate  in 
Shepherd's  Inn,  both  with  our  acquaintances  in  the 
garrets  and  those  in  the  Porter's  Lodge.  He  thought 
he  had  seen  Fanny  somewhere :  he  felt  certain  that 
he  had  ;  but  it  is  no  wonder  that  he  should  not  accu- 
rately remember  her,  for  the  poor  little  thing  never 
chose  to  tell  him  where  she  had  met  him  :  he  himself 
had  seen  her  at  a  period,  when  his  own  views  both  of 
persons  and  of  right  and  wrong  were  clouded  by  the 
excitement  of  drinking  and  dancing,  and  also  little 


PENDENNIS. 


61 


Fanny  was  very  much  changed  and  worn  by  the  fever 
and  agitation,  and  passion  and  despair,  which  the 
past  three  weeks  had  poured  upon  the  head  of  that 
little  victim.  Borne  down  was  the  head  now,  and 
very  pale  and  wan  the  face ;  and  many  and  many  a 
time  the  sad  eyes  had  looked  into  the  postman's,  as 
he  came  to  the  Inn,  and  the  sickened  heart  had  sunk 
as  he  passed  away.  When  Mr.  Costigan's  accident 
occurred,  Fanny  was  rather  glad  to  have  an  oppor- 
tunity of  being  useful  and  doing  something  kind  — 
something  that  would  make  her  forget  her  own  little 
sorrows  perhaps :  she  felt  she  bore  them  better  whilst 
she  did  her  duty,  though  I  dare  say  many  a  tear 
dropped  into  the  old  Irishman's  gruel.  Ah  me  !  stir 
the  gruel  well,  and  have  courage,  little  Fanny  !  If 
everybody  who  has  suffered  from  your  complaint 
were  to  die  of  it  straightway,  what  a  fine  year  the 
undertakers  would  have  ! 

Whether  from  compassion  for  his  only  patient,  or 
delight  in  his  society,  Mr.  Huxter  found  now  occasion 
to  visit  Costigan  two  or  three  times  in  the  day  at 
least,  and  if  any  of  the  members  of  the  Porter's 
Lodge  family  were  not  in  attendance  on  the  General, 
the  young  doctor  was  sure  to  have  some  particular 
directions  to  address  to  fchem  at  their  own  place  of 
habitation.  He  was  a  kind  fellow ;  he  made  or  pur- 
chased toys  for  the  children ;  he  brought  them  apples 
and  brandy  balls ;  he  brought  a  mask  and  frightened 
them  with  it,  and  caused  a  smile  upon  the  face  of 
pale  Fanny.  He  called  Mrs.  Bolton  Mrs.  B.,  and  was 
very  intimate,  familiar,  and  facetious  with  that  lady, 
quite  different  from  that  "  aughty  artless  beast,"  as 
Mrs.  Bolton  now  denominated  a  certain  young  gentle- 
man of  our  acquaintance,  and  whom  she  now  vowed 
she  never  could  abear. 


C2 


PENDENNIS. 


It  was  from  this  lady,  who  was  very  free  in  her 
conversation,  that  Huxter  presently  learnt  what  was 
the  illness  which  was  evidently  preying  upon  little 
Fan,  and  what  had  been  Fen's  behavior  regarding  her. 
Mrs.  Bolton's  account  of  the  transaction  was  not,  it 
may  be  imagined,  entirely  an  impartial  narrative. 
One  would  have  thought  from  her  story  that  the 
young  gentleman  had  employed  a  course  of  the  most 
persevering  and  flagitious  artifices  to  win  the  girl's 
heart,  had  broken  the  most  solemn  promises  made  to 
her,  and  was  a  wretch  to  be  hated  and  chastised  by 
every  champion  of  woman.  Huxter,  in  his  present 
frame  of  mind  respecting  Arthur,  and  suffering  under 
the  latter's  contumely,  was  ready,  of  course,  to  take 
all  for  granted  that  was  said  in  the  disfavor  of  this 
unfortunate  convalescent.  But  why  did  he  not  write 
home  to  Clavering,  as  he  had  done  previously,  giving 
an  account  of  Pen's  misconduct,  and  of  the  particulars 
regarding  it,  which  had  now  come  to  his  knowledge  ? 
He  once,  in  a  letter  to  his  brother-in-law,  announced 
that  that  nice  young  man,  Mr.  Pendennis,  had  escaped 
narrowly  from  a  fever,  and  that  no  doubt  all  Clavering, 
where  he  was  so  popular,  would  be  pleased  at  his 
recovery :  and  he  mentioned  that  he  had  an  interesting 
case  of  compound  fracture,  an  officer  of  distinction, 
which  kept  him  in  town ;  but  as  for  Fanny  Bolton,  he 
made  no  more  mention  of  her  in  his  letters  —  no  more 
than  Pen  himself  had  made  mention  of  her.  0  you 
mothers  at  home,  how  much  do  you  think  you  know 
about  your  lads  ?  How  much  do  you  think  you 
know  ? 

But  with  Bows,  there  was  no  reason  why  Huxter 
should  not  speak  his  mind,  and  so,  a  very  short  time 
after  his  conversation  with  Mrs.  Bolton,  Mr.  Sam 
talked  to  the  musician  about  his  early  acquaintance 


PENDENNIS. 


63 


with  Pendennis  ;  described  him  as  a  confounded  con- 
ceited blackguard,  and  expressed  a  determination  to 
punch  his  impudent  head  as  soon  as  ever  he  should  be 
well  enough  to  stand  up  like  a  man. 

Then  it  was  that  Bows  on  his  part  spoke,  and  told 
his  version  of  the  story,  whereof  Arthur  and  little 
Fan  were  the  hero  and  heroine  ;  how  they  had  met  by 
no  contrivance  of  the  former,  but  by  a  blunder  of  the 
old  Irishman,  now  in  bed  with  a  broken  shin  —  how 
Pen  had  acted  with  manliness  and  self-control  in  the 
business  —  how  Mrs.  Bolton  was  an  idiot  ;  and  he  re- 
lated the  conversation  which  he,  Bows,  had  had  with 
Pen,  and  the  sentiments  uttered  by  the  young  man. 
Perhaps  Bows's  story  caused  some  twinges  of  con- 
science in  the  breast  of  Pen's  accuser,  and  that 
gentleman  frankly  owned  that  he  had  been  wrong 
with  regard  to  Arthur,  and  withdrew  his  project  for 
punching  Mr.  Pendennis's  head. 

But  the  cessation  of  his  hostility  for  Pen  did  not 
diminish  Huxter's  attentions  to  Fanny,  which  unlucky 
Mr.  Bows  marked  with  his  usual  jealousy  and  bitter- 
ness of  spirit.  "  I  have  but  to  like  anybody,"  the  old 
fellow  thought,  "  and  somebody  is  sure  to  be  preferred 
to  me.  It  has  been  the  same  ill  luck  with  me  since  I 
was  a  lad,  until  now  that  I  am  sixty  years  old.  What 
can  I  expect  better  than  to  be  laughed  at  ?  It  is  for 
the  young  to  succeed,  and  to  be  happy,  and  not  for 
old  fools  like  me.  I 've  played  a  second  fiddle  all 
through  life,"  he  said,  with  a  bitter  laugh ;  "  how  can 
I  suppose  the  luck  is  to  change  after  it  has  gone 
against  me  so  long  ?  "  This  was  the  selfish  way  in 
which  Bows  looked  at  the  state  of  affairs  :  though  few 
persons  would  have  thought  there  was  any  cause  for 
his  jealousy,  who  looked  at  the  pale  and  grief-stricken 
countenance  of  the  hapless   little  girl,  its  object. 


64 


PENDENNIS. 


Fanny  received  Huxter's  good-natured  efforts  at  con- 
solation and  kind  attentions  kindly.  She  laughed 
now  and  again  at  his  jokes  and  games  with  her  little 
sisters,  but  relapsed  quickly  into  a  dejection  which 
ought  to  have  satisfied  Mr.  Bows  that  the  new-comer 
had  no  place  in  her  heart  as  yet,  had  jealous  Mr. 
Bows  been  enabled  to  see  with  clear  eyes. 

But  Bows  did  not.  Fanny  attributed  Pen's  silence 
somehow  to  Bows's  interference.  Fanny  hated  him. 
Fanny  treated  Bows  with  constant  cruelty  and  injus- 
tice. She  turned  from  him  when  he  spoke  —  she 
loathed  his  attempts  at  consolation.  A  hard  life  had 
Mr.  Bows  and  a  cruel  return  for  his  regard. 

When  Warrington  came  to  Shepherd's  Inn  as  Pen's 
ambassador,  it  was  for  Mr.  Bows's  apartments  he  in- 
quired (no  doubt  upon  a  previous  agreement  with  the 
principal  for  whom  he  acted  in  this  delicate  negotia- 
tion), and  he  did  not  so  much  as  catch  a  glimpse  of 
Miss  Fanny  when  he  stopped  at  the  inn-gate  and 
made  his  inquiry.  Warrington  was,  of  course,  di- 
rected to  the  musician's  chambers,  and  found  him  tend- 
ing the  patient  there,  from  whose  chamber  he  came  out 
to  wait  upon  his  guest.  We  have  said  that  they  had 
been  previously  known  to  one  another,  and  the  pair 
shook  hands  with  sufficient  cordiality.  After  a  little 
preliminary  talk,  Warrington  said  that  he  had  come 
from  his  friend  Arthur  Pendennis,  and  from  his 
family,  to  thank  Bows  for  his  attention  at  the  com- 
mencement of  Pen's  illness,  and  for  his  kindness  in 
hastening  into  the  country  to  fetch  the  Major. 

Bows  replied  that  it  was  but  his  duty  :  he  had 
never  thought  to  have  seen  the  young  gentleman 
alive  again  when  he  went  in  search  of  Pen's  relatives, 
and  he  was  very  glad  of  Mr.  Pendennis's  recovery, 


PENDENNIS. 


65 


and  that  he  had  his  friends  with  him.  "Lucky  are 
they  who  have  friends,  Mr.  Warrington/'  said  the 
musician.  "  I  might  be  up  in  this  garret  and  nobody 
would  care  for  me,  or  mind  whether  I  was  alive  or 
dead." 

"  What !  not  the  General,  Mr.  Bows  ?  "  Warrington 
asked. 

"  The  General  likes  his  whiskey  bottle  more  than 
anything  in  life,"  the  other  answered;  "we  live  to- 
gether from  habit  and  convenience ;  and  he  cares  for 
me  no  more  than  you  do.  What  is  it  you  want  to 
ask  me,  Mr.  Warrington  ?  You  ain't  come  to  visit 
me,  I  know  very  well.  Nobody  comes  to  visit  me. 
It  is  about  Fanny,  the  porter's  daughter,  you  are 
come  —  I  see  that  very  well.  Is  Mr.  Pendennis,  now 
he  has  got  well,  anxious  to  see  her  again  ?  Does  his 
lordship  the  Sultan  propose  to  throw  his  'ankerchief 
to  her  ?  She  has  been  very  ill,  sir,  ever  since  the 
day  when  Mrs.  Pendennis  turned  her  out  of  doors  — 
kind  of  a  lady,  was  n't  it  ?  The  poor  girl  and  myself 
found  the  young  gentleman  raving  in  a  fever,  know- 
ing nobody,  with  nobody  to  tend  him  but  his  drunken 
laundress  —  she  watched  day  and  night  by  him.  I 
set  off  to  fetch  his  uncle.  Mamma  comes  and  turns 
Fanny  to  the  right  about.  Uncle  comes  and  leaves 
me  to  pay  the  cab.  Carry  my  compliments  to  the 
ladies  and  gentleman,  and  say  we  are  both  very 
thankful,  very.  Why,  a  countess  could  n't  have  be- 
haved better ;  and  for  an  apothecary's  lady,  as  I 'm 
given  to  understand  Mrs.  Pendennis  was  —  I 'm  sure 
her  behavior  is  most  uncommon  aristocratic  and 
genteel.  She  ought  to  have  a  double  gilt  pestle  and 
mortar  to  her  coach." 

It  was  from  Mr.  Huxter  that  Bows  had  learned 
Pen's  parentage,  no  doubt,  and  if  he  took  Pen's  part 


C6 


TENDENNIS. 


against  the  young  surgeon,  and  Fanny's  against  Mr. 
Pendennis,  it  was  because  the  old  gentleman  was  in 
so  savage  a  mood,  that  his  humor  was  to  contradict 
everybody. 

Warrington  was  curious,  and  not  ill  pleased  at  the 
musician's  taunts  and  irascibility.  "I  never  heard 
of  these  transactions,"  he  said,  "or  got  but  a  very 
imperfect  account  of  them  from  Major  Pendennis. 
What  was  a  lady  to  do  ?  I  think  (I  have  never 
spoken  with  her  on  the  subject)  she  had  some  notion 
that  the  young  woman  and  my  friend  Pen  were  on 

—  on  terms  of  —  of  an  intimacy  which  Mrs.  Penden- 
nis could  not,  of  course,  recognize  —  " 

"  Oh,  of  course  not,  sir.  Speak  out,  sir  ;  say  what 
you  mean  at  once,  that  the  young  gentleman  of  the 
Temple  had  made  a  victim  of  the  girl  of  Shepherd's 
Inn,  eh  ?    And  so  she  was  to  be  turned  out  of  doors 

—  or  brayed  alive  in  the  double  gilt  pestle  and  mortar, 
by  Jove  !  No,  Mr.  Warrington,  there  was  no  such 
thing :  there  was  no  victimizing,  or  if  there  was,  Mr. 
Arthur  was  the  victim,  not  the  girl.  He  is  an  honest 
fellow,  he  is,  though  he  is  conceited,  and  a  puppy 
sometimes.  He  can  feel  like  a  man,  and  run  away 
from  temptation  like  a  man.  I  own  it,  though  I  surfer 
by  it,  I  own  it.  He  has  a  heart,  he  has  :  but  the  girl 
has  n't,  sir.  That  girl  will  do  anything  to  win  a  man, 
and  fling  him  away  without  a  pang,  sir.  If  she 's 
flung  away  herself,  sir,  she  '11  feel  it  and  cry.  She 
had  a  fever  when  Mrs.  Pendennis  turned  her  out  of 
doors ;  and  she  made  love  to  the  Doctor,  Doctor  Good- 
enough,  who  came  to  cure  her.  Now  she  has  taken 
on  with  another  chap  —  another  sawbones,  ha,  ha ! 
d —  it,  sir,  she  likes  the  pestle  and  mortar,  and  hangs 
round  the  pill  boxes,  she 's  so  fond  of  'em,  and  she 
has  got  a  fellow  from  Saint  Bartholomew's,  who  grins 


PENDENNIS. 


67 


through  a  horse-collar  for  her  sisters,  and  charms 
away  her  melancholy.  Go  and  see,  sir :  very  likely 
he 's  in  the  lodge  now.  If  you  want  news  about  Miss 
Fanny,  you  must  ask  at  the  Doctor's  shop,  sir,  not  of 
an  old  fiddler  like  me  —  Good-by,  sir.  There 's  my 
patient  calling." 

And  a  voice  was  heard  from  the  Captain's  bedroom, 
a  well-known  voice,  which  said,  "  I 'd  loike  a  dthrop 
of  dthrink,  Bows,  I 'm  thirstee."  And  not  sorry,  per- 
haps, to  hear  that  such  was  the  state  of  things,  and 
that  Pen's  forsaken  was  consoling  herself,  Warring- 
ton took  his  leave  of  the  irascible  musician. 

As  luck  would  have  it,  he  passed  the  lodge  door 
just  as  Mr.  Huxter  was  in  the  act  of  frightening  the 
children  with  the  mask  whereof  we  have  spoken,  and 
Fanny  was  smiling  languidly  at  his  farces.  Warring- 
ton laughed  bitterly.  "  Are  all  women  like  that  ?  " 
he  thought.  "  I  think  there 's  one  that 's  not,"  he 
added,  with  a  sigh. 

At  Piccadilly,  waiting  for  the  Richmond  omnibus, 
George  fell  in  with  Major  Pendennis,  bound  in  the 
same  direction,  and  he  told  the  old  gentleman  of 
what  he  had  seen  and  heard  respecting  Fanny. 

Major  Pendennis  was  highly  delighted:  and  as 
might  be  expected  of  such  a  philosopher,  made  pre- 
cisely the  same  observation  as  that  which  had  es- 
caped from  Warrington.  "  All  women  are  the  same," 
he  saicL  "  La  petite  se  console.  Daymy,  when  I  used 
to  read  '  Tel^maque  '  at  school,  Calypso  ne  pouvait  se 
consoler, — you  know  the  rest,  Warrington, —  I  used 
to  say  it  was  absard.  Absard,  by  Gad,  and  so  it  is. 
And  so  she 's  got  a  new  soupirant,  has  she,  the  little 
porteress  ?  Dayvlish  nice  little  girl.  How  mad  Pen 
will  be  —  eh,  Warrington?  But  we  must  break  it  to 
him  gently,  or  he  '11  be  in  such  a  rage  that  he  will  be 


68 


PENDENNIS. 


going  after  her  again.  We  must  menager  the  young 
fellow." 

"  I  think  Mrs.  Pendennis  ought  to  know  that  Pen 
acted  very  well  in  the  business.  She  evidently  thinks 
him  guilty,  and  according  to  Mr.  Bows,  Arthur  be- 
haved like  a  good  fellow,"  Warrington  said. 

"My  dear  Warrington,"  said  the  Major,  with  a  look 
of  some  alarm.  "  In  Mrs.  Pendennis's  agitated  state 
of  health  and  that  sort  of  thing,  the  best  way,  I  think, 
is  not  to  say  a  single  word  about  the  subject  —  or,  stay, 
leave  it  to  me :  and  I  '11  talk  to  her  —  break  it  to  her 
gently,  you  know,  and  that  sort  of  thing.  I  give  you 
my  word  I  will.  And  so  Calypso 's  consoled,  is  she  ?  " 
And  he  sniggered  over  this  gratifying  truth,  happy  in 
the  corner  of  the  omnibus  during  the  rest  of  the 
journey. 

Pen  was  very  anxious  to  hear  from  his  envoy  what 
had  been  the  result  of  the  latter's  mission;  and  as 
soon  as  the  two  young  men  could  be  alone,  the  ambas- 
sador spoke  in  reply  to  Arthur's  eager  queries. 

"You  remember  your  poem,  Pen,  of  ' Ariadne  in 
Naxos,'"  Warrington  said;  "devilish  bad  poetry  it 
was,  to  be  sure." 

"  Apres  ?  "  asked  Pen,  in  a  great  state  of  excitement. 

"When  Theseus  left  Ariadne,  do  you  remember 
what  happened  to  her,  young  fellow  ? " 

"  It 's  a  lie  !  You  don't  mean  that !  "  cried  out  Pen, 
starting  up,  his  face  turning  red. 

"  Sit  down,  stoopid,"  Warrington  said,  and  with  two 
fingers  pushed  Pen  back  into  his  seat  again.  "It's 
better  for  you  as  it  is,  young  one,"  he  said  sadly,  in 
reply  to  the  savage  flush  in  Arthur's  face. 


CHAPTER  V. 


FOREIGN  GROUND. 

Major  Pendennis  fulfilled  his  promise  to  War- 
rington so  far  as  to  satisfy  his  own  conscience,  and  in 
so  far  to  ease  poor  Helen  with  regard  to  her  son,  as  to 
make  her  understand  that  all  connection  between 
Arthur  and  the  odious  little  gate-keeper  was  at  an 
end,  and  that  she  need  have  no  farther  anxiety  with 
respect  to  an  imprudent  attachment  or  a  degrading 
marriage  on  Pen's  part.  And  that  young  fellow's 
mind  was  also  relieved  (after  he  had  recovered  the 
shock  to  his  vanity)  by  thinking  that  Miss  Fanny 
was  not  going  to  die  of  love  for  him,  and  that  no  un- 
pleasant consequences  were  to  be  apprehended  from 
the  luckless  and  brief  connection. 

So  the  whole  party  were  free  to  carry  into  effect 
their  projected  Continental  trip,  and  Arthur  Penden- 
nis, rentier,  voyageant  avec  Madame  Pendennis  and 
Mademoiselle  Bell,  and  George  Warrington,  particu- 
lier,  age  de  32  ans,  taille  6  pieds  (Anglais),  figure 
ordinaire,  cheveux  noirs,  barbe  idem,  etc.,  procured 
passports  from  the  consul  of  H.  M.  the  King  of  the 
Belgians  at  Dover,  and  passed  over  from  that  port  to 
Ostend,  whence  the  party  took  their  way  leisurely, 
visiting  Bruges  and  Ghent  on  their  way  to  Brussels 
and  the  Rhine.  It  is  not  our  purpose  to  describe  this 
oft-travelled  tour,  or  Laura's  delight  at  the  tranquil 
and  ancient  cities  which  she  saw  for  the  first  time,  or 
Helen's  wonder  and  interest  at  the  Beguine  convents 


70 


PENDENNIS. 


which  they  visited,  or  the  almost  terror  with  which 
she  saw  the  black-veiled  nuns  with  outstretched  arms 
kneeling  before  the  illuminated  altars,  and  beheld  the 
strange  pomps  and  ceremonials  of  the  Catholic  wor- 
ship. Bare-footed  friars  in  the  streets,  crowned  im- 
ages of  Saints  and  Virgins  in  the  churches  before 
which  people  were  bowing  down  and  worshipping,  in 
direct  defiance,  as  she  held,  of  the  written  law ;  priests 
in  gorgeous  robes,  or  lurking  in  dark  confessionals, 
theatres  opened,  and  people  dancing  on  Sundays;  — 
all  these  new  sights  and  manners  shocked  and  bewil- 
dered the  simple  country  lady ;  and  when  the  young 
men  after  their  evening  drive  or  walk  returned  to  the 
widow  and  her  adopted  daughter,  they  found  their 
books  of  devotion  on  the  table,  and  at  their  entrance 
Laura  would  commonly  cease  reading  some  of  the 
psalms  or  the  sacred  pages  which,  of  all  others,  Helen 
loved.  The  late  events  connected  with  her  son  had 
cruelly  shaken  her;  Laura  watched  with  intense, 
though  hidden  anxiety,  every  movement  of  her  dear- 
est friend ;  and  poor  Pen  was  most  constant  and  af- 
fectionate in  waiting  upon  his  mother,  whose  wounded 
bosom  yearned  with  love  towards  him,  though  there 
was  a  secret  between  them,  and  an  anguish  or  rage 
almost  on  the  mother's  part,  to  think  that  she  was 
dispossessed  somehow  of  her  son's  heart,  or  that  there 
were  recesses  in  it  which  she  must  not  or  dared  not 
enter.  She  sickened  as  she  thought  of  the  sacred 
days  of  boyhood  when  it  had  not  been  so  —  when  her 
Arthur's  heart  had  no  secrets,  and  she  was  his  all  in 
all :  when  he  poured  his  hopes  and  pleasures,  his 
childish  griefs,  vanities,  triumphs  into  her  willing 
and  tender  embrace ;  when  her  home  was  his  nest 
still;  and  before  fate,  selfishness,  nature,  had  driven 
him  forth  on  wayward  wings  —  to  range  on  his  own 


PENDENNIS. 


71 


flight  —  to  sing  his  own  song  —  and  to  seek  his  own 
home  and  his  own  mate.  Watching  this  devouring  care 
and  racking  disappointment  in  her  friend,  Laura  once 
said  to  Helen,  "  If  Pen  had  loved  me  as  you  wished,  I 
should  have  gained  him,  but  I  should  have  lost  you, 
Mamma,  I  know  I  should ;  and  I  like  you  to  love  me 
best.  Men  do  not  know  what  it  is  to  love  as  we  do, 
I  think,"  —  and  Helen,  sighing,  agreed  to  this  portion 
of  the  young  lady's  speech,  though  she  protested 
against  the  former  part.  For  my  part,  I  suppose 
Miss  Laura  was  right  in  both  statements,  and  with  re- 
gard to  the  latter  assertion  especially,  that  it  is  an  old 
and  received  truism  —  love  is  an  hour  with  us ;  it  is 
all  night  and  all  day  with  a  woman.  Damon  has 
taxes,  sermon,  parade,  tailors'  bills,  parliamentary 
duties,  and  the  deuce  knows  what  to  think  of ;  Delia 
has  to  think  about  Damon  —  Damon  is  the  oak  (or 
the  post),  and  stands  up,  and  Delia  is  the  ivy  or  the 
honeysuckle  whose  arms  twine  about  him.  Is  it  not 
so,  Delia?  Is  it  not  your  nature  to  creep  about  his 
feet  and  kiss  them,  to  twine  round  his  trunk  and  hang 
there ,  and  Damon's  to  stand  like  a  British  man  with 
his  hands  in  his  breeches  pocket,  while  the  pretty 
fond  parasite  clings  round  him  ? 

Old  Pendennis  had  only  accompanied  our  friends  to 
the  water's  edge,  and  left  them  on  board  the  boat, 
giving  the  chief  charge  of  the  little  expedition  to 
Warrington.  He  himself  was  bound  on  a  brief  visit 
to  the  house  of  a  great  man,  a  friend  of  his,  after 
which  sojourn  he  proposed  to  join  his  sister-in-law  at 
the  German  watering-place,  whither  the  party  was 
bound.  The  Major  himself  thought  that  his  long 
attentions  to  his  sick  family  had  earned  for  him  a 
little  relaxation  —  and  though  the  best  of  the  par' 


72 


PENDENNIS. 


tridges  were  thinned  off,  the  pheasants  were  still  to 
be  shot  at  Stillbrook,  where  the  noble  owner  then 
was  ;  old  Pendennis  betook  himself  to  that  hospitable 
mansion  and  disported  there  with  great  comfort  to 
himself.  A  royal  Duke,  some  foreigners  of  note, 
some  illustrious  statesmen,  and  some  pleasant  people 
visited  it ;  it  did  the  old  fellow's  heart  good  to  see  his 
name  in  the  "  Morning  Post "  amongst  the  list  of  the 
distinguished  company  which  the  Marquis  of  Steyne 
was  entertaining  at  his  country-house  at  Stillbrook. 
He  was  a  very  useful  and  pleasant  personage  in  a 
country-house.  He  entertained  the  young  men  with 
queer  little  anecdotes  and  grivoises  stories  on  their 
shooting  parties  or  in  their  smoking-room,  where  they 
laughed  at  him  and  with  him.  He  was  obsequious 
with  the  ladies  of  a  morning,  in  the  rooms  dedicated 
to  them.  He  walked  the  new  arrivals  about  the  park 
and  gardens,  and  showed  them  the  carte  du  pays,  and 
where  there  was  the  best  view  of  the  mansion,  and 
where  the  most  favorable  point  to  look  at  the  lake : 
he  showed  where  the  timber  was  to  be  felled,  and 
where  the  old  road  went  before  the  new  bridge  was 
built,  and  the  hill  cut  down ;  and  where  the  place  in 
the  wood  was  where  old  Lord  Lynx  discovered  Sir 
Phelim  O'Neal  on  his  knees  before  her  ladyship,  etc., 
etc. ;  he  called  the  lodge-keepers  and  gardeners  by 
their  names :  he  knew  the  number  of  domestics  that 
sat  down  in  the  housekeeper's  room,  and  how  many 
dined  in  the  servants'  hall ;  he  had  a  word  for  every- 
body, and  about  everybody,  and  a  little  against  every- 
body. He  was  invaluable  in  a  country-house,  in  a 
word:  and  richly  merited  and  enjoyed  his  vacation 
after  his  labors.  And  perhaps  whilst  he  was  thus 
deservedly  enjoying  himself  with  his  country  friends, 
the  Major  was  not  ill  pleased  at  transferring  to  War 


PENDENNIS. 


73 


rlngton  the  command  of  the  family  expedition  to  the 
Continent,  and  thus  perforce  keeping  him  in  the  ser- 
vice of  the  ladies,  —  a  servitude  which  George  was 
only  too  willing  to  undergo,  for  his  friend's  sake,  and 
for  that  of  a  society  which  he  found  daily  more 
delightful.  Warrington  was  a  good  German  scholar, 
and  was  willing  to  give  Miss  Laura  lessons  in  the 
language,  who  was  very  glad  to  improve  herself ; 
though  Pen,  for  his  part,  was  too  weak  or  lazy  now  to 
resume  his  German  studies.  Warrington  acted  as 
courier  and  interpreter;  Warrington  saw  the  baggage 
in  and  out  of  ships,  inns,  and  carriages,  managed  the 
money  matters,  and  put  the  little  troop  into  marching 
order.  Warrington  found  out  where  the  English 
church  was,  and,  if  Mrs.  Pendennis  and  Miss  Laura 
were  inclined  to  go  thither,  walked  with  great  de- 
corum along  with  them.  Warrington  walked  by  Mrs. 
Pendennis 's  donkey,  when  that  lady  went  out  on  her 
evening  excursions  ;  or  took  carriages  for  her ;  or  got 
"  Galignani "  for  her ;  or  devised  comfortable  seats 
under  the  lime-trees  for  her,  when  the  guests  paraded 
after  dinner,  and  the  Kursaal  band  at  the  bath,  where 
our  tired  friends  stopped,  performed  their  pleasant 
music  under  the  trees.  Many  a  fine  whiskered  Prus- 
sian or  French  dandy,  come  to  the  bath  for  the 
"  Trente-et-quarante"  cast  glances  of  longing  towards 
the  pretty  fresh-colored  English  girl  who  accompanied 
the  pale  widow,  and  would  have  longed  to  take  a 
turn  with  her  at  the  galop  or  the  waltz.  But  Laura 
did  not  appear  in  the  ball-room,  except  once  or  twice, 
when  Pen  vouchsafed  to  walk  with  her ;  and  as  for 
Warrington,  that  rough  diamond  had  not  had  the 
polish  of  a  dancing-master,  and  he  did  not  know  how 
to  waltz,  — though  he  would  have  liked  to  learn,  if  he 
could  have  had  such  a  partner  as  Laura  —  Such  a 


74 


PENDENNIS. 


partner !  psha,  what  had  a  stiff  bachelor  to  do  with 

partners  and  waltzing  ?  what  was  he  about,  dancing 
attendance  here  ?  drinking  in  sweet  pleasure  at  a  risk 
he  knows  not  of  what  after  sadness,  and  regret,  and 
lonely  longing  ?  But  yet  he  stayed  on.  You  would 
have  said  he  was  the  widow's  son,  to  watch  his 
constant  care  and  watchfulness  of  her;  or  that  he 
was  an  adventurer,  and  wanted  to  marry  her  fortune, 
or,  at  any  rate,  that  he  wanted  some  very  great  treas- 
ure or  benefit  from  her,  —  and  very  likely  he  did,  — 
for  ours,  as  the  reader  has  possibly  already  discovered, 
is  a  Selfish  Story,  and  almost  every  person,  according 
to  his  nature,  more  or  less  generous  than  George,  and 
according  to  the  way  of  the  world  as  it  seems  to  us,  is 
occupied  about  Number  One.  So  Warrington  selfishly 
devoted  himself  to  Helen,  who  selfishly  devoted  her- 
self to  Pen,  who  selfishly  devoted  himself  to  himself 
at  this  present  period,  having  no  other  personage  or 
object  to  occupy  him,  except,  indeed,  his  mother's 
health,  which  gave  him  a  serious  and  real  disquiet ; 
but  though  they  sat  together,  they  did  not  talk  much, 
and  the  cloud  was  always  between  them. 

Every  day  Laura  looked  for  Warrington,  and  re- 
ceived him  with  more  frank  and  eager  welcome.  He 
found  himself  talking  to  her  as  he  did  n't  know  him- 
self that  he  could  talk.  He  found  himself  perform- 
ing acts  of  gallantry  which  astounded  him  after  the 
performance  :  he  found  himself  looking  blankly  in  the 
glass  at  the  crows'  feet  round  his  eyes,  and  at  some 
streaks  of  white  in  his  hair,  and  some  intrusive  silver 
bristles  in  his  grim,  blue  beard.  He  found  himself 
looking  at  the  young  bucks  at  the  bath — at  the  blond, 
tight-waisted  Germans  —  at  the  capering  Frenchmen, 
with  their  lacquered  mustachios  and  trim  varnished 
boots  —  at  the  English  dandies,  Pen  amongst  them, 


PENDENNIS. 


75 


with  their  calm  domineering  air,  and  insolent  lan- 
guor :  and  envied  each  one  of  these  some  excellence 
or  quality  of  youth,  or  good  looks,  which  he  pos- 
sessed, and  of  which  Warrington  felt  the  need.  And 
every  night,  as  the  night  came,  he  quitted  the  little 
circle  with  greater  reluctance  ;  and,  retiring  to  his 
own  lodging  in  their  neighborhood,  felt  himself  the 
more  lonely  and  unhappy.  The  widow  could  not  help 
seeing  his  attachment.  She  understood,  now,  why 
Major  Pendennis  (always  a  tacit  enemy  of  her  dar- 
ling project)  had  been  so  eager  that  Warrington  should 
be  of  their  party.  Laura  frankly  owned  her  great, 
her  enthusiastic,  regard  for  him  :  and  Arthur  would 
make  no  movement.  Arthur  did  not  choose  to  see 
what  was  going  on  ;  or  did  not  care  to  prevent,  or 
actually  encouraged,  it.  She  remembered  his  often 
having  said  that  he  could  not  understand  how  a  man 
proposed  to  a  woman  twice.  She  was  in  torture  —  at 
secret  feud  with  her  son,  of  all  objects  in  the  world 
the  dearest  to  her  —  in  doubt,  which  she  dared  not 
express  to  herself,  about  Laura  —  averse  to  Warring- 
ton, the  good  and  generous.  No  wonder  that  the  heal- 
ing waters  of  Rosenbad  did  not  do  her  good,  or  that 
Doctor  van  Glauber,  the  bath  physician,  when  he  came 
to  visit  her,  found  that  the  poor  lady  made  no  pro- 
gress to  recovery.  Meanwhile  Pen  got  well  rapidly ; 
slept  with  immense  perseverance  twelve  hours  out  of 
the  twenty-four ;  ate  huge  meals ;  and,  at  the  end  of 
a  couple  of  months,  had  almost  got  back  the  bodily 
strength  and  weight  which  he  iiad  possessed  before 
his  illness. 

After  they  had  passed  some  fifteen  days  at  their 
place  of  rest  and  refreshment,  a  letter  came  from 
Major  Pendennis  announcing  his  speedy  arrival  at 
Rosenbad,  and,  soon  after  the  letter,  the  Major  him- 


76 


PENDENNIS. 


self  made  his  appearance  accompanied  by  Morgan  his 
faithful  valet,  without  whom  the  old  gentleman  could 
not  move.  When  the  Major  travelled  he  wore  a  jaunty 
and  juvenile  travelling  costume  ;  to  see  his  back  still 
you  would  have  taken  him  for  one  of  the  young  fel- 
lows whose  slim  waist  and  youthful  appearance  War- 
rington was  beginning  to  envy.  It  was  not  until  the 
worthy  man  began  to  move,  that  the  observer  re- 
marked that  Time  had  weakened  his  ancient  knees, 
and  had  unkindly  interfered  to  impede  the  action  of 
the  natty  little  varnished  boots  in  which  the  gay  old 
traveller  still  pinched  his  toes.  There  were  magnates, 
both  of  our  own  country  and  of  foreign  nations,  pres- 
ent that  autumn  at  Rosenbad.  The  elder  Pendennis 
read  over  the  strangers'  list  with  great  gratification 
on  the  night  of  his  arrival,  was  pleased  to  find  several 
of  his  acquaintances  among  the  great  folks,  and  would 
have  the  honor  of  presenting  his  nephew  to  a  German 
Grand  Duchess,  a  Russian  Princess,  and  an  English 
Marquis,  before  many  days  were  over :  nor  was  Pen 
by  any  means  averse  to  making  the  acquaintance  of 
these  great  personages,  having  a  liking  for  polite  life, 
and  all  the  splendors  and  amenities  belonging  to  it. 
That  very  evening  the  resolute  old  gentleman,  lean- 
ing on  his  nephew's  arm,  made  his  appearance  in  the 
halls  of  the  Kursaal,  and  lost  or  won  a  napoleon  or 
two  at  the  table  of  Trente-et-quarante.  He  did  not 
play  to  lose,  he  said,  or  to  win ;  but  he  did  as  other 
folks  did,  and  betted  his  napoleon  and  took  his  luck 
as  it  came.  He  pointed  out  the  Russians  and  Span- 
iards gambling  for  heaps  of  gold,  and  denounced  their 
eagerness  as  something  sordid  and  barbarous ;  an  Eng- 
lish gentleman  should  play  where  the  fashion  is  play, 
but  should  not  elate  or  depress  himself  at  the  sport ; 
and  he  told  how  he  had  seen  his  friend  the  Marquis 


PENDENNIS. 


77 


of  Steyne,  when  Lord  Gaunt,  lose  eighteen  thousand 
at  a  sitting,  and  break  the  bank  three  nights  running 
at  Paris,  without  ever  showing  the  least  emotion  at 
his  defeat  or  victory  —  "  And  that 's  what  I  call  being 
an  English  gentleman,  Pen,  my  dear  boy,"  the  old  gen- 
tleman said,  warming  as  he  prattled  about  his  recol- 
lections—  "what  I  call  the  great  manner  only  remains 
with  us  and  with  a  few  families  in  France."  And  as 
Eussian  Princesses  passed  him,  whose  reputation  had 
long  ceased  to  be  doubtful,  and  damaged  English  ladies, 
who  are  constantly  seen  in  company  of  their  faithful 
attendant  for  the  time  being  in  these  gay  haunts  of 
dissipation,  the  old  Major,  with  eager  garrulity  and 
mischievous  relish,  told  his  nephew  wonderful  par- 
ticulars regarding  the  lives  of  these  heroines :  and 
diverted  the  young  man  with  a  thousand  scandals. 
Egad,  he  felt  himself  quite  young  again,  he  remarked 
to  Pen,  as,  rouged  and  grinning,  her  enormous  chas- 
seur behind  her  bearing  her  shawl,  the  Princess  Ob- 
stropski  smiled  and  recognized  and  accosted  him. 
He  remembered  her  in  '14  when  she  was  an  actress 
of  the  Paris  Boulevard,  and  the  Emperor  Alexander's 
aide-de-camp  Obstropski  (a  man  of  great  talents,  who 
knew  a  good  deal  about  the  Emperor  Paul's  death, 
and  was  a  devil  to  play)  married  her.  He  most  cour- 
teously and  respectfully  asked  leave  to  call  upon  the 
Princess,  and  to  present  to  her  his  nephew,  Mr.  Arthur 
Pendennis;  and  he  pointed  out  to  the  latter  a  half- 
dozen  of  other  personages  whose  names  were  as  fa- 
mous, and  whose  histories  were  as  edifying.  What 
would  poor  Helen  have  thought,  could  she  have  heard 
those  tales,  or  known  to  what  kind  of  people  her 
brother-in-law  was  presenting  her  son  ?  Only  once, 
leaning  on  Arthur's  arm,  she  had  passed  through  the 
room  where  the  green  tables  were  prepared  for  play, 


78 


PENDENNIS. 


and  the  croaking  croupiers  were  calling  out  their  fatal 
words  of  Rouge  gagne  and  Couleur  perd.  She  had 
shrunk  terrified  out  of  the  Pandemonium,  imploring 
Pen,  extorting  from  him  a  promise,  on  his  word  of 
honor,  that  he  would  never  play  at  those  tables ;  and 
the  scene  which  so  frightened  the  simple  widow,  only 
amused  the  worldly  old  veteran,  and  made  him  young 
again  !  He  could  breathe  the  air  cheerfully  which 
stifled  her.  Her  right  was  not  his  right :  his  food 
was  her  ,  poison.  Human  creatures  are  constituted 
thus  differently,  and  with  this  variety  the  marvellous 
world  is  peopled.  To  the  credit  of  Mr.  Pen,  let  it  be 
said,  that  he  kept  honestly  the  promise  made  to  his 
mother,  and  stoutly  told  his  uncle  of  his  intention  to 
abide  by  it. 

When  the  Major  arrived,  his  presence  somehow  cast 
a  damp  upon  at  least  three  of  the  persons  of  our  little 
party  —  upon  Laura,  who  had  anything  but  respect 
for  him ;  upon  Warrington,  whose  manner  towards 
him  showed  an  involuntary  haughtiness  and  con- 
tempt ;  and  upon  the  timid  and  alarmed  widow,  who 
dreaded  lest  he  should  interfere  with  her  darling, 
though  almost  desperate  projects  for  her  boy.  And, 
indeed,  the  Major,  unknown  to  himself,  was  the 
bearer  of  tidings  which  were  to  bring  about  a  catas- 
trophe in  the  affairs  of  all  our  friends. 

Pen  with  his  two  ladies  had  apartments  in  the  town 
of  Eosenbad ;  honest  Warrington  had  lodgings  hard 
by ;  the  Major,  on  arrival  at  Eosenbad,  had,  as  befitted 
his  dignity,  taken  up  his  quarters  at  one  of  the  great 
hotels,  at  the  Roman  Emperor  or  the  Four  Seasons, 
where  two  or  three  hundred  gamblers,  pleasure-seek- 
ers, or  invalids,  sat  down  and  over-ate  themselves 
daily  at  the  enormous  table-d' hote.  To  this  hotel 
Pen  went  on  the  morning  after  the  Major's  arrival, 


FENDENNIS. 


79 


dutifully  to  pay  his  respects  to  his  uncle,  and  found 
the  latter's  sitting-room  duly  prepared  and  arranged 
by  Mr.  Morgan,  Avith  the  Major's  hats  brushed,  and 
his  coats  laid  out:  his  despatch-boxes  and  umbrella- 
cases,  his  guide-books,  passports,  maps,  and  other 
elaborate  necessaries  of  the  English  traveller,  all  as 
trim  and  ready  as  they  could  be  in  their  master's  own 
room  in  Jermyn  Street.  Everything  was  ready,  from 
the  medicine-bottle  fresh  filled  from  the  pharmacien's, 
down  to  the  old  fellow's  prayer-book,  without  which 
he  never  travelled,  for  he  made  a  point  of  appearing 
at  the  English  church  at  every  place  which  he  honored 
with  a  stay.  "  Everybody  did  it,"  he  said  ;  "  every 
English  gentleman  did  it :  "  and  this  pious  man  would 
as  soon  have  thought  of  not  calling  upon  the  English 
ambassador  in  a  continental  town,  as  of  not  showing 
himself  at  the  national  place  of  worship. 

The  old  gentleman  had  been  to  take  one  of  the 
baths  for  which  Rosen  bad  is  famous,  and  which 
everybody  takes,  ind  his  after-bath  toilet  was  not  yet 
completed  when  Pen  arrived.  The  elder  called  out 
to  Arthur  in  a  cheery  voice  from  the  inner  apartment, 
in  which  he  and  Morgan  were  engaged,  and  the  valet 
presently  came  in,  bearing  a  little  packet  to  Pen's 
address  —  Mr.  Arthur's  letters  and  papers,  Morgan 
said,  which  he  had  brought  from  Mr.  Arthur's  cham- 
bers in  London,  and  which  consisted  chiefly  of  num- 
bers of  the  "Pall  Mall  Gazette,"  which  our  friend 
Mr.  Finucane  thought  his  collaborateur  would  like  to 
see.  The  papers  were  tied  together:  the  letters  in 
an  envelope,  addressed  to  Pen,  in  the  last-named 
gentleman's  handwriting. 

Amongst  the  letters  there  was  a  little  note  ad- 
dressed, as  a  former  letter  we  have  heard  of  had  been, 
to  "  Arthur  Pendennis,  Esquire,"  which  Arthur  opened 


80 


PENDENNIS. 


with  a  start  and  a  blush,  and  read  with  a  very  keen 
pang  of  interest,  and  sorrow,  and  regard.  She  had 
come  to  Arthur's  house,  Fanny  Bolton  said  —  and 
found  that  he  was  gone  —  gone  away  to  Germany 
without  ever  leaving  a  word  for  her  —  or  answer  to 
her  last  letter,  in  which  she  prayed  but  for  one  word 
of  kindness  —  or  the  books  which  he  had  promised 
her  in  happier  times,  before  he  was  ill,  and  which  she 
should  like  to  keep  in  remembrance  of  him.  She  said 
she  would  not  reproach  those  who  had  found  her  at 
his  bedside  when  he  was  in  the  fever,  and  knew  nobody, 
and  who  had  turned  the  poor  girl  away  without  a 
word.  She  thought  she  should  have  died,  she  said,  of 
that,  but  Doctor  Goodenough  had  kindly  tended  her, 
and  kep  her  life,  when,  perhaps,  the  keeping  of  it 
was  of  no  good,  and  she  forgave  everybody :  and  as 
for  Arthur,  she  would  pray  for  him  forever.  And 
when  he  was  so  ill,  and  they  cut  off  his  hair,  she  had 
made  so  free  as  to  keep  one  little  lock  for  herself,  and 
that  she  owned.  And  might  she  still  keep  it,  or 
would  his  mamma  order  that  that  should  be  gave  up 
too  ?  She  was  willing  to  obey  him  in  all  things,  and 
could  n't  but  remember  that  once  he  was  so  kind,  oh ! 
so  good  and  kind !  to  his  poor  Fanny. 

When  Major  Pendennis,  fresh  and  smirking  from 
his  toilet,  came  out  of  his  bedroom  to  his  sitting-room, 
he  found  Arthur,  with  this  note  before  him,  and  an 
expression  of  savage  anger  on  his  face,  which  sur- 
prised the  elder  gentleman.  "  What  news  from  Lon- 
don, my  boy?"  he  rather  faintly  asked;  "are  the 
duns  at  you,  that  you  look  so  glum  ?  99 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  this  letter,  sir  ?  " 
Arthur  asked. 

"  What  letter,  my  good  sir  ?  "  said  the  other  dryly, 
at  once  perceiving  what  had  happened. 


PENDENNIS. 


81 


"  You  know  what  I  mean  —  about,  about  Miss  — 
about  Fanny  Bolton  —  the  poor  dear  little  girl," 
Arthur  broke  out.  "  When  was  she  in  my  room  ? 
Was  she  there  when  I  was  delirious  —  I  fancied  she 
was  —  was  she  ?  Who  sent  her  out  of  my  chambers  ? 
Who  intercepted  her  letters  to  me  ?  Who  dared  to 
do  it  ?    Did  you  do  it,  Uncle  ?  " 

"  It 's  not  my  practice  to  tamper  with  gentlemen's 
letters,  or  to  answer  damned  impertinent  questions," 
Major  Pendennis  cried  out,  in  a  great  tremor  of  emo- 
tion and  indignation.  "There  was  a  girl  in  your 
rooms  when  I  cam3  up  at  great  personal  inconven- 
ience, daymy  —  and  to  meet  with  a  return  of  this 
kind  for  my  affection  to  you,  is  not  pleasant,  by  Gad, 
sir  —  not  at  all  pleasant." 

"  That 's  not  the  question,  sir,"  Arthur  said  hotly  — 
"  and  —  and,  I  beg  your  pardon,  Uncle.  You  were, 
you  always  have  been,  most  kind  to  me  :  but  I  say 
again,  did  you  say  anything  harsh  to  this  poor  girl  ? 
Did  you  send  her  away  from  me  ?  " 

"  I  never  spoke  a  word  to  the  girl,"  the  uncle  said, 
u  and  I  never  sent  her  away  from  you,  and  know  no 
more  about  her,  and  wish  to  know  no  more  about  her, 
than  about  the  man  in  the  moon." 

"  Then  it 's  my  mother  that  did  it,"  Arthur  broke 
out.    "  Did  my  mother  send  that  poor  child  away  ?  " 

"  I  repeat  I  know  nothing  about  it,  sir,"  the  elder 
said  testily.   "  Let 's  change  the  subject,  if  you  please." 

"  I  '11  never  forgive  the  person  who  did  it,"  said 
Arthur,  bouncing  up  and  seizing  his  hat. 

The  Major  cried  out,  "  Stop,  Arthur,  for  God's  sake, 
stop ! "  but  before  he  had  uttered  his  sentence,  Arthur 
had  rushed  out  of  the  room,  and  at  the  next  minute 
the  Major  saw  him  striding  rapidly  down  the  street 
that  led  towards  his  home. 


82 


PENDENNIS. 


"  Get  breakfast ! "  said  the  old  fellow  to  Morgan, 
and  he  wagged  his  head  and  sighed  as  he  looked  ont 
of  the  window.  "  Poor  Helen  —  poor  sonl !  There  '11 
be  a  row.  I  knew  there  would:  and  begad  all  the 
fat's  in  the  fire." 

When  Pen  reached  home  he  only  found  Warring- 
ton in  the  ladies'  drawing-room,  waibing  their  arrival 
in  order  to  conduct  them  to  the  place  where  the  little 
English  colony  at  Rosenbad  held  their  Sunday  church. 
Helen  and  Laura  had  not  appeared  as  yet ;  the  former 
was  ailing,  and  her  daughter  was  with  her.  Pen's 
wrath  was  so  great  that  he  could  not  defer  expressing 
it.  He  flung  Fanny's  letter  across  the  table  to  his 
friend.  "  Look  there,  Warrington,"  he  said ;  "  she 
tended  me  in  my  illness,  she  rescued  me  out  of  the 
jaws  of  death,  and  this  is  the  way  they  have  treated 
the  dear  little  creature.  They  have  kept  her  letters 
from  me ;  they  have  treated  me  like  a  child,  and 
her  like  a  dog,  poor  thing!  My  mother  has  done 
this." 

"  If  she  has,  you  must  remember  it  is  your  mother," 
Warrington  interposed. 

"  It  only  makes  the  crime  the  greater,  because  it  is 
she  who  has  done  it,"  Pen  answered.  "  She  ought  to 
have  been  the  poor  girl's  defender,  not  her  enemy ; 
she  ought  to  go  down  on  her  knees  and  ask  pardon  of 
her.  I  ought !  I  will !  I  am  shocked  at  the  cruelty 
which  has  been  shown  her.  What  ?  She  gave  me 
her  all,  and  this  is  her  return  !  She  sacrifices  every- 
thing for  me,  and  they  spurn  her." 

u  Hush  ! "  said  Warrington,  "  they  can  hear  you 
from  the  next  room." 

"  Hear  ?  let  them  hear ! "  Pen  cried  out,  only  so 
much  the  louder.  "  Those  may  overhear  my  talk 
who  intercept  my  letters.    I  say  this  poor  girl  has 


PENDENMS. 


83 


Been  shamefully  used,  and  I  will  do  my  best  to  right 
her ;  I  wilL" 

The  door  of  the  neighboring  room  opened,  and 
Laura  came  forth  with  pale  and  stern  face.  She 
looked  at  Pen  with  glances  from  which  beamed  pride, 
defiance,  aversion.  "  Arthur,  your  mother  is  very 
ill,"  she  said ;  "  it  is  a  pity  that  you  should  speak  so 
loud  as  to  disturb  her." 

"It  is  a  pity  that  I  should  have  been  obliged  to 
speak  at  all,"  Pen  answered.  "  And  I  have  more  to 
say  before  I  have  done." 

"  I  should  think  what  you  have  to  say  will  hardly 
be  fit  for  me  to  hear,"  Laura  said,  haughtily. 

"  You  are  welcome  to  hear  it  or  not,  as  you  like," 
said  Mr.  Pen.  "  I  shall  go  in  now,  and  speak  to  my 
mother." 

Laura  came  rapidly  forward,  so  that  she  should  not 
be  overheard  by  her  friend  within.  "  Not  now,  sir," 
she  said  to  Pen.  "You  may  kill  her  if  you  do. 
Your  conduct  has  gone  far  enough  to  make  her 
wretched." 

"  What  conduct  ?  "  cried  out  Pen,  in  a  fury.  "  Who 
dares  impugn  it  ?  Who  dares  meddle  with  me  ?  Is 
it  you  who  are  the  instigator  of  this  persecution  ?  " 

"  I  said  before  it  was  a  subject  of  which  it  did  not 
become  me  to  hear  or  to  speak,"  Laura  said.  "  But  as 
for  mamma,  if  she  had  acted  otherwise  than  she  did 
with  regard  to  —  to  the  person  about  whom  you 
seem  to  take  such  an  interest,  it  would  have  been  I 
that  must  have  quitted  your  house,  and  not  that  — 
that  person." 

"  By  heavens  !  this  is  too  much,"  Pen  cried  out, 
with  a  violent  execration. 

"Perhaps  that  is  what  you  wished,"  Laura  said, 
tossing  her  head  up.   "  No  more  of  this,  if  you  please  ; 


84 


PENDENNIS. 


F  am  not  accustomed  to  hear  such  subjects  spoken  of  in 
such  language  ;  "  and  with  a  stately  curtsy  tiie  young 
lady  passed  to  her  friend's  room,  looking  her  adversary 
full  in  the  face  as  she  retreated  and  closed  the  door 
upon  him. 

Pen  was  bewildered  with  wonder,  perplexity,  fury, 
at  this  monstrous  and  unreasonable  persecution.  He 
burst  out  into  a  loud  and  bitter  laugh  as  Laura  quitted 
him,  and  with  sneers  and  revilings,  as  a  man  who 
jeers  under  an  operation,  ridiculed  at  once  his  own 
pain  and  his  persecutor's  anger.  The  laugh,  which 
was  one  of  bitter  humor,  and  no  unmanly  or  unkindly 
expression  of  suffering  under  most  cruel  and  un- 
merited torture,  was  heard  in  the  next  apartment,  as 
some  of  his  unlucky  previous  expressions  had  been, 
and,  like  them,  entirely  misinterpreted  by  the  hearers. 
It  struck  like  a  dagger  into  the  wounded  and  tender 
heart  of  Helen  ;  it  pierced  Laura,  and  inflamed  the 
high-spirited  girl  with  scorn  and  anger.  "  And  it  was 
to  this  hardened  libertine,"  she  thought  —  "  to  this 
boaster  of  low  intrigues,  that  I  have  given  my  heart 
away."  "  He  breaks  the  most  sacred  laws,"  thought 
Helen.  "  He  prefers  the  creature  of  his  passion  to  his 
own  mother ;  and  when  he  is  upbraided,  he  laughs,  and 
glories  in  his  crime.  '  She  gave  me  her  all,'  I  heard 
him  say  it,"  argued  the  poor  widow ;  "  and  he  boasts 
of  it,  and  laughs,  and  breaks  his  mother's  heart." 
The  emotion,  the  shame,  the  grief,  the  mortification 
almost  killed  her.  She  felt  she  should  die  of  his 
unkindness. 

Warrington  thought  of  Laura's  speech  —  "  Perhaps 
that  is  what  you  wished."  "  She  loves  Pen  still,"  he 
said.  "It  was  jealousy  made  her  speak."  —  "Come 
away,  Pen.  Come  away  and  let  us  go  to  church  and 
get  calm.    You  must  explain  this  matter  to  your 


PENDENNIS. 


85 


mother.  She  does  not  appear  to  know  the  truth  :  nor 
do  you  quite,  my  good  fellow.  Come  away,  and  let  us 
talk  about  it."  And  again  he  muttered  to  himself, 
" 1  Perhaps  that  is  what  you  wished.'  Yes,  she  loves 
him.  Why  should  n't  she  love  him  ?  Whom  else 
would  I  have  her  love  ?  What  can  she  be  to  me  but 
the  dearest  and  the  fairest  and  the  best  of  women  ?  " 

So,  leaving  the  women  similarly  engaged  within, 
the  two  gentlemen  walked  away,  each  occupied  with 
his  own  thoughts,  and  silent  for  a  considerable  space. 
"  I  must  set  this  matter  right,"  thought  honest 
George,  "  as  she  loves  him  still  —  I  must  set  his 
mother's  mind  right  about  the  other  woman."  And 
with  this  charitable  thought,  the  good  fellow  began 
to  tell  more  at  large  what  Bows  had  said  to  him  re- 
garding Miss  Bolton's  behavior  and  fickleness,  and 
he  described  how  the  girl  was  no  better  than  a  light- 
minded  flirt ;  and,  perhaps,  he  exaggerated  the  good- 
humor  and  contenteclness  which  he  had  himself,  as 
he  thought,  witnessed  in  her  behavior  in  the  scene 
with  Mr.  Huxter. 

Now,  all  Bows's  statements  had  been  colored  by  an 
insane  jealousy  and  rage  on  that  old  man's  part;  and 
instead  of  allaying  Pen's  renascent  desire  to  see  his 
little  conquest  again,  Warrington's  accounts  inflamed 
and  angered  Pendennis,  and  made  him  more  anxious 
than  before  to  set  himself  right,  as  he  persisted  in 
phrasing  it,  with  Fanny.  They  arrived  at  the  church- 
door  presently;  but  scarce  one  word  of  the  service, 
and  not  a  syllable  of  Mr.  Shamble's  sermon,  did  either 
of  them  comprehend,  probably  —  so  much  was  each 
engaged  with  his  own  private  speculations.  The 
Major  came  up  to  them  after  the  service,  with  his 
well-brushed  hat  and  wig,  and  his  jauntiest,  most 
cheerful  air.    He  complimented  them  upon  being  seen 


86 


PENDENNIS. 


at  church ;  again  he  said  that  every  comme-il-faut  per- 
son made  a  point  of  attending  the  English  service 
abroad;  and  he  walked  back  with  the  young  men, 
prattling  to  them  in  garrulous  good-humor,  and  mail- 
ing bows  to  his  acquaintances  as  they  passed;  and 
thinking  innocently  that  Pen  and  George  were  both 
highly  delighted  by  his  anecdotes,  which  they  suffered 
to  run  on,  in  a  scornful  and  silent  acquiescence. 

At  the  time  of  Mr.  Shamble's  sermon  (an  erratic 
Anglican  divine,  hired  for  the  season  at  places  of 
English  resort,  and  addicted  to  debts,  drinking  and 
even  to  roulette,  it  was  said),  Pen,  chafing  under  the 
persecution  which  his  womankind  inflicted  upon  him, 
had  been  meditating  a  great  act  of  revolt  and  of  jus- 
tice, as  he  had  worked  himself  up  to  believe;  and 
Warrington  on  his  part  had  been  thinking  that  a 
crisis  in  his  affairs  had  likewise  come,  and  that  it  was 
necessary  for  him  to  break  away  from  a  connection 
which  every  day  made  more  and  more  wretched  and 
dear  to  him.  Yes,  the  time  was  come.  He  took 
those  fatal  words,  "  Perhaps  that  is  what  you  wished," 
as  a  text  for  a  gloomy  homily,  which  he  preached  to 
himself,  in  the  dark  crypt  of  his  own  heart,  whilst  Mr. 
Shamble  was  feebly  giving  utterance  to  his  sermon. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


"fairoaks  to  let." 

Our  poor  widow  (with  the  assistance  of  her  faithful 
Martha  of  Fairoaks,  who  laughed  and  wondered  at  the 
German  ways,  and  superintended  the  affairs  of  the 
simple  household)  had  made  a  little  feast  in  honor  of 
Major  Pendennis's  arrival,  of  which,  however,  only 
the  Major  and  his  two  younger  friends  partook,  for 
Helen  sent  to  say  that  she  was  too  unwell  to  dine  at 
their  table,  and  Laura  bore  her  company.  The  Major 
talked  for  the  party,  and  did  not  perceive,  or  choose 
to  perceive,  what  a  gloom  and  silence  pervaded  the 
other  two  sharers  of  the  modest  dinner.  .  It  was  even- 
ing before  Helen  and  Laura  came  into  the  sitting- 
room  to  join  the  company  there.  She  came  in  leaning 
on  Laura,  with  her  back  to  the  waning  light,  so  that 
Arthur  could  not  see  how  pallid  and  woe-stricken  her 
face  was ;  and  as  she  went  up  to  Pen,  whom  she  had 
not  seen  during  the  day,  and  placed  her  fond  arms  on 
his  shoulder  and  kissed  him  tenderly,  Laura  left  her, 
and  moved  away  to  another  part  of  the  room.  Pen 
remarked  that  his  mother's  voice  and  her  whole  frame 
trembled,  her  hand  was  clammy  cold  as  she  put  it  up 
to  his  forehead,  piteously  embracing  him.  The  spec- 
tacle of  her  misery  only  added,  somehow,  to  the  wrath 
and  testiness  of  the  young  man.  He  scarcely  returned 
the  kiss  which  the  suffering  lady  gave  him :  and  the 
countenance  with  which  he  met  the  appeal  of  her  look 
was  hard  and  cruel.    "  She  persecutes  me,"  he  thought 


88 


PENDENNIS. 


within  himself,  "  and  she  comes  to  me  with  the  air  of 
a  martyr."  "  Yon  look  very  ill,  my  child,"  she  said. 
"  I  don't  like  to  see  you  look  in  that  way."  And  she 
tottered  to  a  sofa,  still  holding  one  of  his  passive 
hands  in  her  thin  cold  clinging  fingers. 

"I  have  had  much  to  annoy  me,  Mother,"  Pen  said 
with  a  throbbing  breast:  and  as  he  spoke  Helen's 
heart  began  to  beat  so,  that  she  sat  almost  dead  and 
speechless  with  terror. 

Warrington,  Laura,  and  Major  Pendennis,  all  re- 
mained breathless,  aware  that  the  storm  was  about 
to  break. 

"  I  have  had  letters  from  London,"  Arthur  continued, 
"  and  one  that  has  given  me  more  pain  than  I  ever  had 
in  my  life.  It  tells  me  that  former  letters  of  mine 
have  been  intercepted  and  purloined  away  from 
me ;  —  that  —  that  a  young  creature  who  has  shown 
the  greatest  love  and  care  for  me,  has  been  most 
cruelly  used  by  —  by  you,  Mother." 

"For  God's  sake,  stop,"  cried  out  Warrington. 
"  She 's  ill  —  don't  you  see  she  is  ill  ?  " 

"  Let  him  go  on,"  said  the  widow,  faintly. 

"  Let  him  go  on  and  kill  her,"  said  Laura,  rushing 
up  to  her  mother's  side.  "  Speak  on,  sir,  and  see  her 
die," 

"  It  is  you  who  are  cruel,"  cried  Pen,  more  exasper- 
ated and  more  savage,  because  his  own  heart,  naturally 
soft  and  weak,  revolted  indignantly  at  the  injustice  of 
the  very  suffering  which  was  laid  at  his  door.  "  It  is 
you  who  are  cruel,  who  attribute  all  this  pain  to  me  : 
it  is  you  who  are  cruel  with  your  wicked  reproaches, 
your  wicked  doubts  of  me,  your  wicked  persecutions 
of  those  who  love  me,  —  yes,  those  who  love  me,  and 
who  brave  everything  for  me,  and  whom  you  despise 
and  trample  upon  because  they  are  of  lower  degree 


PENDENNIS. 


89 


than  you.  Shall  I  tell  you  what  I  will  do,  '• —  what  I 
am  resolved  to  do,  now  that  I  know  what  your  con- 
duct has  been?  —  I  will  go  back  to  this  poor  girl 
whom  you  turned  out  of  my  doors,  and  ask  her  to 
come  back  and  share  my  home  with  me.  I  '11  defy 
the  pride  which  persecutes  her,  and  the  pitiless  sus- 
picion which  insults  her  and  me." 

"  Do  you  mean,  Pen,  that  you  —  "  here  the  widow, 
with  eager  eyes  and  outstretched  hands,  was  break- 
ing out,  but  Laura  stopped  her  :  "  Silence,  hush,  dear 
mother,"  she  cried,  and  the  widow  hushed.  Sav- 
agely as  Pen  spoke,  she  was  only  too  eager  to  hear 
what  more  he  had  to  say.  "  Go  on,  Arthur,  go  on, 
Arthur,"  was  all  she  said,  almost  swooning  away 
as  she  spoke. 

"  By  Gad,  I  say  he  sha'n't  go  on,  or  I  won't  hear 
him,  by  Gad,"  the  Major  said,  trembling  too  in  his 
wrath.  "  If  you  choose,  sir,  after  all  we 've  done  for 
you,  after  all  I've  done  for  you,  myself,  to  insult 
your  mother  and  disgrace  your  name,  by  allying  your- 
self with  a  low-born  kitchen-girl,  go  and  do  it,  by  Gad, 

—  but  let  us,  Ma'am,  have  no  more  to  do  with  him.  I 
wash  my  hands  of  you,  sir,  —  I  wash  my  hands  of  you. 
I 'm  an  old  fellow,  —  I  ain't  long  for  this  world.  I 
come  of  as  ancient  and  honorable  a  family  as  any  in 
England,  and  I  did  hope,  before  I  went  off  the  hooks, 
by  Gad,  that  the  fellow  that  I 'd  liked,  and  brought 
up,  and  nursed  through  life,  by  Jove,  would  do  some- 
thing to  show  me  that  our  name — yes,  the  name  of 
Pendennis,  was  left  undishonored  behind  us  ;  but  if  he 
won't,  dammy,  I  say,  amen.  By  G — ,  both  my  father 
and  my  brother  Jack  were  the  proudest  men  in  Eng- 
land, and  I  never  would  have  thought  that  there 
would  come  this  disgrace  to  my  name,  —  never  —  and 

—  and  I'm  ashamed  that  it's  Arthur  Pendennis.'1 


90 


PENDENNIS. 


The  old  fellow's  voice  here  broke  off  into  a  sob: 
it  was  the  second  time  that  Arthur  had  brought 
tears  from  those  wrinkled  lids. 

The  sound  of  his  breaking  voice  stayed  Pen's  anger 
instantly,  and  he  stopped  pacing  the  room,  as  he  had 
been  doing  until  that  moment.  Laura  was  by  Helen's 
sofa ;  and  Warrington  had  remained  hitherto  an  al- 
most silent  but  not  uninterested  spectator  of  the 
family  storm.  As  the  parties  were  talking,  it  had 
grown  almost  dark ;  and  after  the  lull  which  succeeded 
the  passionate  outbreak  of  the  Major,  George's  deep 
voice,  as  it  here  broke  trembling  into  the  twilight 
room,  was  heard  with  no  small  emotion  by  all. 

"  Will  you  let  me  tell  you  something  about  myself, 
my  kind  friends  ?  "  he  said,  —  "  you  have  been  so 
good  to  me,  Ma'am  —  you  have  been  so  kind  to  me, 
Laura — I  hope  I  may  call  you  so  sometimes  —  my 
dear  Pen  and  I  have  been  such  friends  that  —  that 
I  have  long  wanted  to  tell  you  my  story  such  as 
it  is,  and  would  have  told  it  to  you  earlier  but 
that  it  is  a  sad  one  and  contains  another's  secret. 
However,  it  may  do  good  for  Arthur  to  know  it  —  it 
is  right  that  every  one  here  should.  It  will  divert 
you  from  thinking  about  a  subject  which,  out  of  a  fatal 
misconception,  has  caused  a  great  deal  of  pain  to  all  of 
you.    May  I  please  tell  you,  Mrs.  Pendennis  ?  " 

"  Pray  speak,"  was  all  Helen  said ;  and  indeed  she 
was  not  much  heeding ;  her  mind  was  full  of  another 
idea  with  which  Pen's  words  had  supplied  her,  and  she 
was  in  a  terror  of  hope  that  what  he  had  hinted  might 
be  as  she  wished. 

George  filled  himself  a  bumper  of  wine  and  emptied 
it,  and  began  to  speak.  "  You  all  of  you  know  how 
you  see  me,"  he  said,  —  "a  man  without  a  desire  to 
make  an  advance  in  the  world :  careless  about  reputa- 


PENDENNIS. 


91 


tion ;  and  living  in  a  garret  and  from  hand  to  month, 
though  I  have  friends  and  a  name,  and  I  dare  say 
capabilities  of  my  own,  that  would  serve  me  if  I  had  a 
mind.  But  mind  I  have  none.  I  shall  die  in  that 
garret  most  likely,  and  alone.  I  nailed  myself  to  that 
doom  in  early  life.  Shall  I  tell  you  what  it  was  that  in- 
terested me  about  Arthur  years  ago,  and  made  me  in- 
clined towards  him  when  I  first  saw  him  ?  The  men 
from  our  college  at  Oxbridge  brought  up  accounts  of 
that  early  affair  with  the  Chatteris  actress,  about 
whom  Pen  has  often  talked  to  me  since  $  and  who, 
but  for  the  Major's  generalship,  might  have  been  your 
daughter-in-law,  Ma'am.  I  can't  see  Pen  in  the  dark, 
but  he  blushes  I 'm  sure ;  and  I  dare  say  Miss  Bell 
does  ;  and  my  friend  Major  Pendennis,  I  dare  say, 
laughs  as  he  ought  to  do  —  for  he  won.  What  would 
have  been  Arthur's  lot  now  had  he  been  tied  at  nine- 
teen to  an  illiterate  woman  older  than  himself,  with 
no  qualities  in  common  between  them,  to  make  one  a 
companion  for  the  other,  no  equality,  no  confidence, 
and  no  love  speedily  ?  What  could  he  have  been  but 
most  miserable  ?  And  when  he  spoke  just  now  and 
threatened  a  similar  union,  be  sure  it  was  but  a  threat 
occasioned  by  anger,  which  you  must  give  me  leave 
to  say,  Ma'am,  was  very  natural  on  his  part,  for  after 
a  generous  and  manly  conduct  —  let  me  say  who  know 
the  circumstances  well  —  most  generous  and  manly 
and  self-denying  (which  is  rare  with  him),  —  he  has 
met  from  some  friends  of  his  with  a  most  unkind 
suspicion,  and  has  had  to  complain  of  the  unfair 
treatment  of  another  innocent  person,  towards  whom 
he  and  you  all  are  under  much  obligation." 

The  widow  was  going  to  get  up  here,  and  Warring- 
ton, seeing  her  attempt  to  rise,  said,  "  Do  1  tire  you, 
Ma'am  ?  " 


92 


PENDENNIS. 


"Ono  —  go  on  —  go  on,"  said  Helen,  delighted,  and 

he  continued. 

"  I  liked  him,  you  see,  because  of  that  early  history 
of  his,  which  had  come  to  my  ears  in  college  gossip, 
and  because  I  like  a  man,  if  you  will  pardon  me  for 
saying  so,  Miss  Laura,  who  shows  that  he  can  have  a 
great  unreasonable  attachment  for  a  woman.  That  was 
why  we  became  friends  —  and  are  all  friends  here  — 
for  always,  are  n't  we  ?  "  he  added  in  a  lower  voice, 
leaning  over  to  her,  "  and  Pen  has  been  a  great  comfort 
and  companion  to  a  lonely  and  unfortunate  man. 

"  I  am  not  complaining  of  my  lot,  you  see ;  for  no 
man's  is  what  he  would  have  it ;  and  up  in  my  garret, 
where  you  left  the  flowers,  and  with  my  old  books  and 
my  pipe  for  a  wife,  I  am  pretty  contented,  and  only 
occasionally  envy  other  men,  whose  careers  in  life  are 
more  brilliant,  or  who  can  solace  their  ill  fortune  by 
what  Fate  and  my  own  fault  has  deprived  me  of  —  the 
affection  of  a  woman  or  a  child."  Here  there  came  a 
sigh  from  somewhere  near  Warrington  in  the  dark,  and 
a  hand  was  held  out  in  his  direction,  which,  however, 
was  instantly  withdrawn,  for  the  prudery  of  our  fe- 
males is  such,  that  before  all  expression  of  feeling,  or 
natural  kindness  and  regard,  a  woman  is  taught  to 
think  of  herself  and  the  proprieties,  and  to  be  ready 
to  blush  at  the  very  slightest  notice ;  and  checking, 
as,  of  course,  it  ought,  this  spontaneous  motion,  mod- 
esty drew  up  again,  kindly  friendship  shrank  back 
ashamed  of  itself,  and  Warrington  resumed  his  his- 
tory. "  My  fate  is  such  as  I  made  it,  and  not  lucky 
for  me  or  for  others  involved  in  it. 

"  I,  too,  had  an  adventure  before  I  went  to  college  ; 
and  there  was  no  one  to  save  me  as  Major  Pendennis 
saved  Pen.  Pardon  me,  Miss  Laura,  if  I  tell  this 
story  before  you.    It  is  as  well  that  you  all  of  you 


PENDENNIS. 


93 


should  hear  my  confession.  Before  I  went  to  college, 
as  a  boy  of  eighteen,  I  was  at  a  private  tutor's,  and 
there,  like  Arthur,  I  became  attached,  or  fancied  I  was 
attached,  to  a  woman  of  a  much  lower  degree  and  a 
greater  age  than  my  own.    You  shrink  from  me  —  " 

"  No,  I  don't,"  Laura  said,  and  here  the  hand  went 
out  resolutely,  and  laid  itself  in  Warrington's.  She 
had  divined  his  story  from  some  previous  hints  let 
fall  by  him,  and  his  first  words  at  its  commencement. 

"  She  was  a  yeoman's  daughter  in  the  neighbor- 
hood," Warrington  said,  with  rather  a  faltering  voice, 
"and  I  fancied  —  what  all  young  men  fancy.  Her 
parents  knew  who  my  father  was,  and  encouraged  me, 
with  all  sorts  of  coarse  artifices  and  scoundrel  flat- 
teries, which  I  see  now,  about  their  house.  To  do 
her  justice,  I  own  she  never  cared  for  me,  but  was 
forced  into  what  happened  by  the  threats  and  com- 
pulsion of  her  family.  Would  to  God  that  I  had  not 
been  deceived :  but  in  these  matters  we  are  deceived 
because  we  wish  to  be  so,  and  I  thought  I  loved  that 
poor  woman. 

"  What  could  come  of  such  a  marriage  ?  I  found, 
before  long,  that  I  was  married  to  a  boor.  She  could 
not  comprehend  one  subject  that  interested  me.  Her 
dulness  palled  upon  me  till  I  grew  to  loathe  it.  And 
after  some  time  of  a  wretched,  furtive  union  —  I  must 
tell  you  all  —  I  found  letters  somewhere  (and  such  let- 
ters they  were ! )  which  showed  me  that  her  heart, 
such  as  it  was,  had  never  been  mine,  but  had  always 
belonged  to  a  person  of  her  own  degree. 

"At  my  father's  death,  I  paid  what  debts  I  had 
contracted  at  college,  and  settled  every  shilling  which 
remained  to  me  in  an  annuity  upon  —  upon  those  who 
bore  my  name,  on  condition  that  they  should  hide 
themselves  away,  and  not  assume  it.    They  have 


94 


PENDENNIS. 


kept  that  condition,  as  they  would  break  it,  for  more 
money.  If  I  had  earned  fame  or  reputation,  that 
woman  would  have  come  to  claim  it :  if  I  had  made 
a  name  for  myself,  those  who  had  no  right  to  it  would 
have  borne  it ;  and  I  entered  life  at  twenty,  God  help 
me  —  hopeless  and  ruined  beyond  remission.  I  was 
the  boyish  victim  of  vulgar  cheats,  and,  perhaps,  it  is 
only  of  late  I  have  found  out  how  hard  —  ah,  how 
hard  —  it  is  to  forgive  them.  I  told  you  the  moral 
before,  Pen  ;  and  now  I  have  told  you  the  fable.  Be- 
ware how  you  marry  out  of  your  degree.  I  was  made 
for  a  better  lot  than  this,  I  think:  but  God  has 
awarded  me  this  one  —  and  so,  you  see,  it  is  for  me 
to  look  on,  and  see  others  successful  and  others 
happy,  with  a  heart  that  shall  be  as  little  bitter  as 
possible." 

"  By  Gad,  sir,"  cried  the  Major,  in  high  good-humor, 
"  I  intended  you  to  marry  Miss  Laura  here." 

"  And,  by  Gad,  Master  Shallow,  I  owe  you  a  thou, 
sand  pound,"  Warrington  said. 

"  How  d'  ye  mean  a  thousand  ?  it  was  only  a  pony, 
sir,"  replied  the  Major  simply,  at  which  the  other 
laughed. 

As  for  Helen,  she  was  so  delighted,  that  she  started 
up,  and  said,  "  God  bless  you  —  God  forever  bless  you, 
Mr.  Warrington  ;  "  and  kissed  both  his  hands,  and  ran 
up  to  Pen,  and  fell  into  his  arms. 

"  Yes,  dearest  mother,"  he  said  as  he  held  her  to 
him,  and  with  a  noble  tenderness  and  emotion,  em- 
braced and,  forgave  her.  "  I  am  innocent,  and  my 
dear,  dear  mother  has  done  me  a  wrong." 

"  Oh,  yes,  my  child,  I  have  wronged  you,  thank 
God,  I  have  wronged  you ! "  Helen  whispered. 
"  Come  away,  Arthur  —  not  here  —  I  want  to  ask 
my  child  to  forgive  me  —  and  —  and  my  God,  to 


PENDEXNIS. 


95 


forgive  me ;  and  to  bless  you,  and  love  you,  my 
son." 

He  led  her,  tottering,  into  her  room,  and  closed  the 
door,  as  the  three  touched  spectators  of  the  reconcilia- 
tion looked  on  in  pleased  silence.  Ever  after,  ever 
after,  the  tender  accents  of  that  voice  faltering 
sweetly  at  his  ear  —  the  look  of  the  sacred  eyes 
beaming  with  an  affection  unutterable  —  the  quiver 
of  the  fond  lips  smiling  mournfully  —  were  remem- 
bered by  the  young  man.  And  at  his  best  moments, 
and  at  his  hours  of  trial  and  grief,  and  at  his  times 
of  success  or  well-doing,  the  mother's  face  looked 
down  upon  him,  and  blessed  him  with  its  gaze  of 
pity  and  purity,  as  he  saw  it  in  that  night  when  she 
yet  lingered  with  him  ;  and  when  she  seemed,  ere  she 
quite  left  him,  an  angel,  transfigured  and  glorified 
with  love  —  for  which  love,  as  for  the  greatest  of  the 
bounties  and  wonders  of  God's  provision  for  us,  let 
us  kneel  and  thank  Our  Father. 

The  moon  had  risen  by  this  time ;  Arthur  recol- 
lected well  afterwards  how  it  lighted  up  his  mother's 
sweet  pale  face.  Their  talk,  or  his  rather,  for  she 
scarcely  could  speak,  was  more  tender  and  confidem 
tial  than  it  had  been  for  years  before.  He  was  the 
frank  and  generous  boy  of  her  early  days  and  love. 
He  told  her  the  story,  the  mistake  regarding  which 
had  caused  her  so  much  pain  —  his  struggles  to  fly 
from  temptation,  and  his  thankfulness  that  he  had 
been  able  to  overcome  it.  He  never  would  do  the  girl 
wrong,  never  ;  or  wound  his  own  honor  or  his  mother's 
pure  heart.  The  threat  that  he  would  return  was 
uttered  in  a  moment  of  exasperation,  of  which  he  re- 
pented. He  never  would  see  her  again.  But  his  mother 
said,  Yes  he  should ;  and  it  was  she  who  had  been 
proud  and  culpable  —  and  she  would  like  to  give  Fanny 


96 


PENDENNIS. 


Bolton  something  —  and  she  begged  her  dear  boy's 
pardon  for  opening  the  letter  —  and  she  would  write 
to  the  young  girl,  if  —  if  she  had  time.  Poor  thing  ! 
was  it  not  natural  that  she  should  love  her  Arthur  ? 
And  again  she  kissed  him,  and  she  blessed  him. 

As  they  were  talking  the  clock  struck  nine,  and 
Helen  reminded  him  how,  when  he  was  a  little  boy, 
she  used  to  go  up  to  his  bedroom  at  that  hour,  and 
hear  him  say  Our  Father.  And  once  more,  oh,  once 
more,  the  young  man  fell  down  at  his  mother's  sacred 
knees,  and  sobbed  out  the  prayer  which  the  Divine 
Tenderness  uttered  for  us,  and  which  has  been  echoed 
for  twenty  ages  since  by  millions  of  sinful  and  hum- 
bled men.  And  as  he  spoke  the  last  words  of  the 
supplication,  the  mother's  head  fell  down  on  her 
boy's,  and  her  arms  closed  round  him,  and  together 
they  repeated  the  words  "for  ever  and  ever,"  and 
"  Amen." 

A  little  time  after,  it  might  have  been  a  quarter  of 
an  hour,  Laura  heard  Arthur's  voice  calling  from 
within,  "  Laura !  Laura  !  "  She  rushed  into  the  room 
instantly,  and  found  the  young  man  still  on  his  knees, 
and  holding  his  mother's  hand.  Helen's  head  had 
sunk  back  and  was  quite  pale  in  the  moon.  Pen 
looked  round,  scared  with  a  ghastly  terror.  "  Help, 
Laura,  help  !  "  he  said  —  "  she 's  fainted  — she 's  — " 

Laura  screamed,  and  fell  by  the  side  of  Helen. 
The  shriek  brought  Warrington  and  Major  Penden- 
nis  and  the  servants  to  the  room.  The  sainted  wo- 
man was  dead.  The  last  emotion  of  her  soul  here 
was  joy,  to  be  henceforth  uncheckered  and  eternal. 
The  tender  heart  beat  no  more  ;  it  was  to  have  no 
more  pangs,  no  more  doubts,  no  more  griefs  and 
trials.  Its  last  throb  was  love ;  and  Helen's  last 
breath  was  a  benediction. 


PENDENNIS. 


97 


The  melancholy  party  bent  their  way  speedily  home- 
wards, and  Helen  was  laid  by  her  husband's  side  at 
Clavering,  in  the  old  church  where  she  had  prayed  so 
often.  For  a  while  Laura  went  to  stay  with  Dr.  Port- 
man,  who  read  the  service  over  his  dear  sister  departed, 
amidst  his  own  sobs  and  those  of  the  little  congrega- 
tion which  assembled  round  Helen's  tomb.  There 
were  not  many  who  cared  for  her,  or  who  spoke  of  her 
when  gone.  Scarcely  more  than  of  a  nun  in  a  clois- 
ter did  people  know  of  that  pious  and  gentle  lady.  A 
few  words  among  the  cottagers  whom  her  bounty  was 
accustomed  to  relieve,  a  little  talk  from  house  to  house 
at  Clavering,  where  this  lady  told  how  their  neighbor 
died  of  a  complaint  of  the  heart ;  whilst  that  specu- 
lated upon  the  amount  of  property  which  the  widow 
had  left ;  and  a  third  wondered  whether  Arthur  would 
let  Fairoaks  or  live  in  it,  and  expected  that  he  would 
not  be  long  getting  through  his  property,  —  this  was 
all,  and  except  with  one  or  two  who  cherished  her 
the  kind  soul  was  forgotten  by  the  next  market-day. 
Would  you  desire  that  grief  for  you  should  last  for  a 
few  more  weeks  ?  and  does  after-life  seem  less  soli- 
tary, provided  that  our  names,  when  we  "go  down 
into  silence,"  are  echoing  on  this  side  of  the  grave  yet 
for  a  little  while,  and  human  voices  are  still  talking 
about  us  ?  She  was  gone,  the  pure  soul,  whom  only  two 
or  three  loved  and  knew.  The  great  blank  she  left 
was  in  Laura's  heart,  to  whom  her  love  had  been  every, 
thing,  and  who  had  now  but  to  worship  her  memory. 
"  I  am  glad  that  she  gave  me  her  blessing  before  she 
went  away,"  Warrington  said  to  Pen;  and  as  for 
Arthur,  with  a  humble  acknowledgment  and  wonder 
at  so  much  affection,  he  hardly  dared  to  ask  of  Heaven 
to  make  him  worthy  of  it,  though  he  felt  that  a  saint 
there  was  interceding  for  him. 


98 


PENDENNIS. 


All  the  lady's  affairs  were  found  in  perfect  order, 
and  her  little  property  ready  for  transmission  to  her 
son,  in  trust  for  whom  she  held  it.  Papers  in  her 
desk  showed  that  she  had  long  been  aware  of  the 
complaint,  one  of  the  heart,  under  which  she  labored, 
and  knew  that  it  would  suddenly  remove  her :  and  a 
prayer  was  found  in  her  handwriting,  asking  that  her 
end  might  be,  as  it  was,  in  the  arms  of  her  son. 

Laura  and  Arthur  talked  over  her  sayings,  all  of 
which  the  former  most  fondly  remembered,  to  the 
young  man's  shame  somewhat,  who  thought  how 
much  greater  her  love  had  been  for  Helen  than  his 
own.  He  referred  himself  entirely  to  Laura  to  know 
what  Helen  would  have  wished  should  be  done  ;  what 
poor  persons  she  would  have  liked  to  relieve ;  what 
legacies  or  remembrances  she  would  have  wished  to 
transmit.  They  packed  up  the  vase  which  Helen  in 
her  gratitude  had  destined  to  Dr.  Goodenough,  and 
duly  sent  it  to  the  kind  Doctor ;  a  silver  coffee-pot, 
which  she  used,  was  sent  off  to  Dr.  Portman ;  a  dia- 
mond ring,  with  her  hair,  was  given  with  affectionate 
greeting  to  Warrington. 

It  must  have  been  a  hard  day  for  poor  Laura  when 
she  went  over  to  Fairoaks  first,  and  to  the  little  room 
which  she  had  occupied,  and  which  was  hers  no  more, 
and  to  the  widow's  own  blank  chamber  in  which  those 
two  had  passed  so  many  beloved  hours.  There,  of 
course,  were  the  clothes  in  the  wardrobe,  the  cushion 
on  which  she  prayed,  the  chair  at  the  toilet:  the 
glass  that  was  no  more  to  reflect  her  dear  sad  face. 
After  she  had  been  here  a  while,  Pen  knocked  and  led 
her  down  stairs  to  the  parlor  again,  and  made  her 
drink  a  little  wine,  and  said,  "  God  bless  you,"  as  she 
touched  the  glass.  "Nothing  shall  ever  be  changed 
in  your  room,"  he  said  —  "  it  is  always  your  room  — 


PENDENNIS. 


99 


ft  is  always  my  sister's  room.  Shall  it  not  be  so, 
Laura  ?  "  and  Laura  said,  "  Yes  !  " 

Among  the  widow's  papers  was  found  a  packet, 
marked  by  the  widow  "  Letters  from  Laura's  father," 
and  which  Arthur  gave  to  her.  They  were  the  letters 
which  had  passed  between  the  cousins  in  the  early 
days  before  the  marriage  of  either  of  them.  The  ink 
was  faded  in  which  they  were  written :  the  tears  dried 
out  that  both  perhaps  had  shed  over  them  ;  the  grief 
healed  now  whose  bitterness  they  chronicled ;  the 
friends  doubtless  united  whose  parting  on  earth  had 
caused  to  both  pangs  so  cruel.  And  Laura  learned 
fully  now  for  the  first  time  what  the  tie  was  which 
had  bound  her  so  tenderly  to  Helen :  how  faithfully 
her  more  than  mother  had  cherished  her  father's 
memory,  how  truly  she  had  loved  him,  how  meekly 
resigned  him. 

One  legacy  of  his  mother's  Pen  remembered,  of 
which  Laura  could  have  no  cognizance.  It  was  that 
wish  of  Helen's  to  make  some  present  to  Fanny  Bol- 
ton ;  and  Pen  wrote  to  her,  putting  his  letter  under  an 
envelope  to  Mr.  Bows,  and  requesting  that  gentleman 
to  read  it  before  he  delivered  it  to  Fanny.  "Dear 
Fanny,"  Pen  said,  "  I  have  to  acknowledge  two  letters 
from  you,  one  of  which  was  delayed  in  my  illness  " 
(Pen  found  the  first  letter  in  his  mother's  desk  after 
her  decease,  and  the  reading  it  gave  him  a  strange 
pang),  "  and  to  thank  you,  my  kind  nurse  and  friend, 
who  watched  me  so  tenderly  during  my  fever.  And  I 
have  to  tell  you  that  the  last  words  of  my  dear  mother, 
who  is  no  more,  were  words  of  good-will  and  gratitude 
to  you  for  nursing  me :  and  she  said  she  would  have 
written  to  you,  had  she  had  time  —  that  she  would 
like  to  ask  your  pardon  if  she  had  harshly  treated 
you  —  and  that  she  would  beg  you  to  show  your  for- 


too 


PENDENNIS. 


giveness  by  accepting  some  token  of  friendship  and 
regard  from  her."  Pen  concluded  by  saying  that  his 
friend  George  Warrington,  Esq.,  of  Lamb  Court  Tem- 
ple, was  trustee  of  a  little  sum  of  money,  of  which  the 
interest  would  be  paid  to  her  until  she  became  of  age, 
or  changed  her  name,  which  would  always  be  affec- 
tionately remembered  by  her  grateful  friend,  A.  Pen- 
dennis.  The  sum  was  in  truth  but  small,  although 
enough  to  make  a  little  heiress  of  Fanny  Bolton; 
whose  parents  were  appeased,  and  whose  father  said 
Mr.  P.  had  acted  quite  as  the  gentleman  —  though 
Bows  growled  out  that  to  plaster  a  wounded  heart 
with  a  bank-note  was  an  easy  kind  of  sympathy ; 
and  poor  Fanny  felt  only  too  clearly  that  Pen's 
letter  was  one  of  farewell. 

"Sending  hundred-pound  notes  to  porters'  daugh- 
ters is  all  dev'lish  well,"  old  Major  Pendennis  said  to 
his  nephew  (whom,  as  the  proprietor  of  Fairoaks  and 
the  head  of  the  family,  he  now  treated  with  marked 
deference  and  civility),  "and  as  there  was  a  little 
ready  money  at  the  bank,  and  your  poor  mother 
wished  it,  there's  perhaps  no  harm  done.  But,  my 
good  lad,  I 'd  have  you  to  remember  that  you 've  not 
above  five  hundred  a-year,  though,  thanks  to  me,  the 
world  gives  you  credit  for  being  a  doosid  deal  better 
off;  and,  on  my  knees,  I  beg  you,  my  boy,  don't 
break  into  your  capital.  Stick  to  it,  sir ;  don't  specu- 
late with  it,  sir  ;  keep  your  land,  and  don't  borrow  on 
it.  Tatham  tells  me  that  the  Chatteris  branch  of  the 
railway  may  —  will  almost  certainly  pass  through 
Chatteris,  and  if  it  can  be  brought  on  this  side  of  the 
Brawl,  sir,  and  through  your  fields,  they  '11  be  worth 
a  dev'lish  deal  of  money,  and  your  five  hundred  a- 
year  will  jump  up  to  eight  or  nine.  Whatever  it  is, 
keep  it,  I  implore  you  keep  it.    And  I  say,  Pen,  I 


PENDENNIS. 


101 


think  you  should  give  up  living  in  those  dirty  cham- 
bers in  the  Temple  and  get  a  decent  lodging.  And  I 
should  have  a  man,  sir,  to  wait  upon  me ;  and  a  horse 
or  two  in  town  in  the  season.  All  this  will  pretty 
well  swallow  up  your  income,  and  I  know  you  must 
live  close.  But  remember  you  have  a  certain  place  in 
society,  and  you  can't  afford  to  cut  a  poor  figure  in 
the  world.  What  are  you  going  to  do  in  the  winter  ? 
You  don't  intend  to  stay  down  here,  or,  I  suppose,  to 
go  on  writing  for  that  —  what-d'-ye-call-'em  —  that 
newspaper  ?  " 

"  Warrington  and  I  are  going  abroad  again,  sir,  for 
a  little,  and  then  we  shall  see  what  is  to  be  done," 
Arthur  replied. 

"  And  you  '11  let  Fairoaks,  of  course.  Good  school 
in  the  neighborhood ;  cheap  country :  dev'lish  nice 
place  for  East  India  colonels,  or  families  wanting  to 
retire.  I  '11  speak  about  it  at  the  club  ;  there  are  lots 
of  fellows  at  the  club  want  a  place  of  that  sort." 

"  I  hope  Laura  will  live  in  it  for  the  winter,  ab 
least,  and  will  make  it  her  home,"  Arthur  replied  :  at 
which  the  Major  pish'd  and  psha'd,  and  said  that 
there  ought  to  be  convents,  begad,  for  English  ladies, 
and  wished  that  Miss  Bell  had  not  been  there  to  inter- 
fere with  the  arrangements  of  the  family,  and  that  she 
would  mope  herself  to  death  alone  in  that  place. 

Indeed,  it  would  have  been  a  very  dismal  abode  for 
poor  Laura,  who  was  not  too  happy  either  in  Doctor 
Portman's  household,  and  in  the  town  where  too 
many  things  reminded  her  of  the  dear  parent  whom 
she  had  lost.  But  old  Lady  Eockminster,  who  adored 
her  young  friend  Laura,  as  soon  as  she  read  in  the 
paper  of  her  loss,  and  of  her  presence  in  the  country, 
rushed  over  from  Baymouth,  where  the  old  lady  was 
staying,  and  insisted  that  Laura  should  remain  six 


102 


PENDENNIS. 


months,  twelve  months,  all  her  life  with  her;  and 
to  her  ladyship's  house,  Martha  from  Fairoaks,  as 
/efc^fe  de  cKambre,  accompanied  hS^5ung%iistress. 

Pen  and  Warrington  saw  her  depart.  It  was  diffi- 
cult to  say  which  of  the  young  men  seemed  to  regard 
her  the  most ,  tenderly.  "  Your  cousin  is  pert  and 
rather  vulgar,  my  dear,  but  he  seems  to  have  a  good 
heart,"  little  Lady  Eockminster  said,  who  said  her 
say  about  everybody  —  "  but  I  like  Bluebeard  best. 
Tell  me,  is  he  touche  au  coeur  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Warrington  has  been  long  —  engaged,"  Laura 
said,  dropping  her  eyes. 

"Nonsense,  child!  And  good  heavens,  my  dear! 
that 's  a  pretty  diamond  cross.  What  do  you  mean 
by  wearing  it  in  the  morning  ?  " 

"Arthur  —  my  brother,  gave  it  me  just  now.  It 
was  —  it  was  —  "  She  could  not  finish  the  sentence. 
The  carriage  passed  over  the  bridge,  and  by  the  dear, 
dear  gate  of  Fairoaks  —  home  no  more. 


stival,  at  which 
m  Downs,  that 
whom  we  have 
s  istory,  were  as- 

nfortable  open 
le  ground  by  a 
ngay,  of  Pater- 
his  glory,  and 
Ion,  for  whom, 
uaintance,  the 
ined  a  steady 
himself  with  a 
at  the  sticks 
his  bald  pate, 
the  drinking- 
in  attendance 

on  the  two  ladies,  to  whom  gentlemen  of  their  acquain- 
tance, and  connected  with  the  publishing  house,  came 
up  to  pay  a  visit. 

Among  others,  Mr.  Archer  came  up  to  make  her  his 
bow,  and  told  Mrs.  Bungay  who  was  on  the  course. 
Yonder  was  the  Prime  Minister:  his  lordship  had 
just  told  him  to  back  Borax  for  the  race ;  but  Archer 
thought  Muffineer  the  better  horse.  He  pointed  out 
countless  dukes  and  grandees  to  the  delighted  Mrs. 
Bungay.    "Look  yonder  in  the  Grand  Stand,"  he  said. 


102 


months,  tweh 
to  her  ladysl 
fe^^  de  c'liai 

Pen  and  W 
cult  to  say  wh 
her  the  most 
rather  vulgar, 
heart,"  little 
say  about  evt 
Tell  me,  is  he 

"Mr.  Warri 
said,  dropping 

"  Nonsense, 
that's  a  prett 
by  wearing  it  i 

"  Arthur  —  \ 
was  —  it  was  - 
The  carriage  p 
dear  gate  of  Fi 


CHAPTER  VII. 


OLD  FRIENDS. 

It  chanced  at  that  great  English  festival,  at  which 
all  London  takes  a  holiday  npon  Epsom  Downs,  that 
a  great  number  of  the  personages  to  whom  we  have 
been  introduced  in  the  course  of  this  history,  were  as- 
sembled to  see  the  Derby.  In  a  comfortable  open 
carriage,  which  had  been  brought  to  the  ground  by  a 
pair  of  horses,  might  be  seen  Mrs.  Bungay,  of  Pater- 
noster Row,  attired  like  Solomon  in  all  his  glory,  and 
having  by  her  side  modest  Mrs.  Shandon,  for  whom, 
since  the  commencement  of  their  acquaintance,  the 
worthy  publisher's  lady  had  maintained  a  steady 
friendship.  Bungay,  having  recreated  himself  with  a 
copious  luncheon,  was  madly  shying  at  the  sticks 
hard  by,  till  the  perspiration  ran  off  his  bald  pate. 
Shandon  was  shambling  about  among  the  drinking- 
tents  and  gypsies :  Finucane  constant  in  attendance 
on  the  two  ladies,  to  whom  gentlemen  of  their  acquain- 
tance, and  connected  with  the  publishing  house,  came 
up  to  pay  a  visit. 

Among  others,  Mr.  Archer  came  up  to  make  her  his 
bow,  and  told  Mrs.  Bungay  who  was  on  the  course. 
Yonder  was  the  Prime  Minister :  his  lordship  had 
just  told  him  to  back  Borax  for  the  race ;  but  Archer 
thought  Muffineer  the  better  horse.  He  pointed  out 
countless  dukes  and  grandees  to  the  delighted  Mrs. 
Bungay.    "Look  yonder  in  the  Grand  Stand,"  he  said. 


104 


PENDENNIS. 


"  There  sits  the  Chinese  Ambassador  with  the  Manda- 
rins of  his  suite.  Fou-choo-Foo  brought  me  over  let- 
ters of  introduction  from  the  Governor-General  of 
India,  my  most  intimate  friend,  and  I  was  for  some 
time  very  kind  to  him,  and  he  had  his  chopsticks  laid 
for  him  at  my  table  whenever  he  chose  to  come  and 
dine.  But  he  brought  his  own  cook  with  him,  and  — 
would  you  believe  it,  Mrs.  Bungay  ?  —  one  day,  when 
I  was  out,  and  the  Ambassador  was  with  Mrs.  Archer 
in  our  garden  eating  gooseberries,  of  which  the  Chi- 
nese are  passionately  fond,  the  beast  of  a  cook,  seeing 
my  wife's  dear  little  Blenheim  spaniel  (that  we  had 
from  the  Duke  of  Marlborough  himself,  whose  ances- 
tor's life  Mrs.  Archer's  great-great-grandfather  saved  at 
the  battle  of  Malplaquet),  seized  upon  the  poor  little 
devil,  cut  his  throat,  and  skinned  him,  and  served  him 
up  stuffed  with  forced-meat  in  the  second  course." 
"  Law  ! "  said  Mrs.  Bungay. 

"  You  may  fancy  my  wife's  agony  when  she  knew 
what  had  happened !  The  cook  came  screaming  up- 
stairs, and  told  us  that  she  had  found  poor  Fido's  skin 
in  the  area,  just  after  we  had  all  of  us  tasted  of  the 
dish !  She  never  would  speak  to  the  Ambassador 
again  —  never ;  and,  upon  my  word,  he  has  never 
been  to  dine  with  us  since.  The  Lord  Mayor,  who 
did  me  the  honor  to  dine,  liked  the  dish  very  much ; 
and,  eaten  with  green  peas,  it  tastes  rather  like 
duck." 

"  You  don't  say  so,  now ! "  cried  the  astonished  pub- 
lisher's lady. 

"  Fact,  upon  my  word.  Look  at  that  lady  in  blue, 
seated  by  the  Ambassador:  that  is  Lady  Flamingo, 
and  they  say  she  is  going  to  be  married  to  him,  and 
return  to  Pekin  with  his  Excellency.  She  is  getting 
her  feet  squeezed  down  on  purpose.    But  she  '11  only 


PENDENNIS. 


105 


cripple  herself,  and  will  never  be  able  to  do  it — never. 
My  wife  has  the  smallest  foot  in  England,  and  wears 
shoes  for  a  six-years-old  child ;  but  what  is  that  to  a 
Chinese  lady's  foot,  Mrs.  Bungay  ?  " 

"Who  is  that  carriage  as  Mr.  Pendennis  is  with, 
Mr.  Archer?"  Mrs.  Bungay  presently  asked.  "He 
and  Mr.  Warrington  was  here  jest  now.  He 's 
'aughty  in  his  manners,  that  Mr.  Pendennis,  and  well 
he  may  be,  for  I 'm  told  he  keeps  tip-top  company. 
'As  he  'ad  a  large  fortune  left  him,  Mr.  Archer  ?  He 's 
in  black  still,  I  see." 

"  Eighteen  hundred  a-year  in  land,  and  twenty-two 
thousand  five  hundred  in  the  Three-and-a-half  per 
Cents ;  that 's  about  it,"  said  Mr.  Archer. 

"  Law  !  why  you  know  everything,  Mr.  A. ! "  cried 
the  lady  of  Paternoster  Row. 

"  I  happen  to  know,  because  I  was  called  in  about 
poor  Mrs.  Pendennis's  will,"  Mr.  Archer  replied. 
"  Pendennis's  uncle,  the  Major,  seldom  does  anything 
without  me ;  and  as  he  is  likely  to  be  extravagant, 
we've  tied  up  the  property,  so  that  he  can't  make 
ducks-and-drakes  with  it.  —  How  do  you  do,  my 
lord  ? —  Do  you  know  that  gentleman,  ladies  ?  You 
have  read  his  speeches  in  the  House ;  it  is  Lord 
Rochester." 

"Lord  Fiddlestick,"  cried  out  Finucane,  from  the 
box.  "  Sure  it 's  Tom  Staples,  of  the  '  Morning  Ad- 
vertiser,' Archer." 

"  Is  it  ?  "  Archer  said,  simply.  "  Well,  I 'm  very 
short-sighted,  and  upon  my  word  I  thought  it  was 
Rochester.  That  gentleman  with  the  double  opera- 
glass  (another  nod)  is  Lord  John ;  and  the  tall  man 
with  him,  don 't  you  know  him  ?  is  Sir  James." 

"  You  know  'em  because  you  see  'em  in  the  House," 
growled  Finucane. 


106 


PENDENNIS. 


"I  know  them  because  they  are  kind  enough  to 
allow  me  to  call  them  my  most  intimate  friends," 
Archer  continued.  "  Look  at  the  Duke  of  Hamp- 
shire ;  what  a  pattern  of  a  fine  old  English  gentleman  ! 
He  never  misses  'the  Derby.'  ' Archer,5  he  said  to 
me  only  yesterday,  '  I  have  been  at  sixty -five  Derbies  ! 
appeared  on  the  field  for  the  first  time  on  a  piebald 
pony  when  I  was  seven  years  old,  with  my  father, 
the  Prince  of  Wales,  and  Colonel  Hanger ;  and  only 
missing  two  races,  —  one  when  I  had  the  measles  at 
Eton,  and  one  in  the  Waterloo  year,  when  I  was  with 
my  friend  Wellington  in  Flanders. ' " 

"  And  who  is  that  yellow  carriage,  with  the  pink 
and  yellow  parasols,  that  Mr.  Pendennis  is  talking  to, 
and  ever  so  many  gentlemen  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Bungay. 

"  That  is  Lady  Clavering,  of  Clavering  Park,  next 
estate  to  my  friend  Pendennis.  That  is  the  young 
son  and  heir  upon  the  box ;  he 's  awfully  tipsy,  the 
little  scamp !  and  the  young  lady  is  Miss  Amory, 
Lady  Clavering's  daughter  by  a  first  marriage,  and  un- 
commonly sweet  upon  my  friend  Pendennis  ;  but  I 've 
reason  to  think  he  has  his  heart  fixed  elsewhere.  You 
have  heard  of  young  Mr.  Foker  —  the  great  brewer, 
Poker,  you  know — he  was  going  to  hang  himself  in 
consequence  of  a  fatal  passion  for  Miss  Amory,  who 
refused  him,  but  was  cut  down  just  in  time  by  his 
valet,  and  is  now  abroad,  under  a  keeper." 

"  How  happy  that  young  fellow  is ! "  sighed  Mrs. 
Bungay.  "  Who 'd  have  thought  when  he  came  so 
quiet  and  demure  to  dine  with  us,  three  or  four  years 
ago,  he  would  turn  out  such  a  grand  character ! 
Why,  I  saw  his  name  at  Court  the  other  day,  and  pre- 
sented by  the  Marquis  of  Steyne  and  all ;  and  in 
every  party  of  the  nobility  his  name 's  down  as  sure 
as  a  gun." 


PENDENNIS. 


107 


"  I  introduced  him  a  good  deal  when  he  first  came 
up  to  town,"  Mr.  Archer  said,  "and  his  uncle,  Major 
Pendennis,  did  the  rest.  Hallo !  There 's  Cobden 
here,  of  all  men  in  the  world  !  I  must  go  and  speak 
to  him.  Good-by,  Mrs.  Bungay.  Good  morning, 
Mrs.  Shandon." 

An  hour  previous  to  this  time,  and  at  a  different 
part  of  the  course,  there  might  have  been  seen  an  old 
stage-coach,  on  the  battered  roof  of  which  a  crowd  of 
shabby  raffs  were  stamping  and  hallooing,  as  the  great 
event  of  the  day  —  the  Derby  race  —  rushed  over  the 
green  sward,  and  by  the  shouting  millions  of  people 
assembled  to  view  that  magnificent  scene.  This  was 
Wheeler's  (the  "Harlequin's  Head")  drag,  which 
had  brought  down  a  company  of  choice  spirits  from 
Bow  Street,  with  a  slap-up  luncheon  in  the  "boot." 
As  the  whirling  race  flashed  by,  each  of  the  choice  spir- 
its bellowed  out  the  name  of  the  horse  or  the  colors 
which  he  thought  or  he  hoped  might  be  foremost. 
"The  Cornet!"  "It's  Muffineer!"  "It's  blue 
sleeves  !  "  "  Yallow  cap !  yallow  cap  !  yattow  cap  !  " 
and  so  forth,  yelled  the  gentlemen  sportsmen,  during 
that  delicious  and  thrilling  minute  before  the  contest 
was  decided;  and  as  the  fluttering  signal  blew  out, 
showing  the  number  of  the  famous  horse  Podasokus 
as  winner  of  the  race,  one  of  the  gentlemen  on  the 
"  Harlequin's  Head  "  drag  sprang  up  off  the  roof,  as 
if  he  was  a  pigeon  and  about  to  fly  away  to  London  or 
York  with  the  news. 

But  his  elation  did  not  lift  him  many  inches  from  his 
standing  place,  to  which  he  came  down  again  on  the 
instant,  causing  the  boards  of  the  crazy  old  coach- 
roof  to  crack  with  the  weight  of  his  joy.  "  Hurra, 
hurra ! "  he  bawled  out,  "  Podasokus  is  the  horse  ! 
Supper  for  ten,  Wheeler,  my  boy.  Ask  you  all  round 
of  course,  and  damn  the  expense." 


108 


PENDENNIS. 


And  the  gentlemen  on  the  carriage,  the  shabby 
swaggerers,  the  dubious  bucks,  said,  "  Thank  you  — 
congratulate  you,  Colonel ;  sup  with  you  with  pleas- 
ure :  "  and  whispered  to  one  another,  "  The  Colonel 
stands  to  win  fifteen  hundred,  and  he  got  the  odds 
from  a  good  man,  too." 

And  each  of  the  shabby  bucks  and  dusky  dandies 
began  to  eye  his  neighbor  with  suspicion,  lest  that 
neighbor,  taking  his  advantage,  should  get  the 
Colonel  into  a  lonely  place  and  borrow  money  of  him. 
And  the  winner  on  Podasokus  could  not  be  alone  dur- 
ing the  whole  of  that  afternoon,  so  closely  did  his 
friends  watch  him  and  each  other. 

At  another  part  of  the  course  you  might  have  seen 
a  vehicle,  certainly  more  modest,  if  not  more  shabby 
than  that  battered  coach  which  had  brought  down  the 
choice  spirits  from  the  "  Harlequin's  Head ; "  this 
was  cab  No.  2002,  which  had  conveyed  a  gentleman 
and  two  ladies  from  the  cab-stand  in  the  Strand ; 
whereof  one  of  the  ladies,  as  she  sat  on  the  box  of  the 
cab  enjoying  with  her  mamma  and  their  companion  a 
repast  of  lobster-salad  and  bitter  ale,  looked  so  fresh 
and  pretty  that  many  of  the  splendid  young  dandies 
who  were  strolling  about  the  course,  and  enjoying 
themselves  at  the  noble  diversion  of  Sticks,  and  talk- 
ing to  the  beautifully  dressed  ladies  in  the  beautiful 
carriages  on  the  hill,  forsook  these  fascinations  to 
have  a  glance  at  the  smiling  and  rosy-cheeked  lass  on 
the  cab.  The  blushes  of  youth  and  good-humor  man- 
tled on  the  girl's  cheeks,  and  played  over  that  fair 
countenance  like  the  pretty  shining  cloudlets  on  the 
serene  sky  overhead ;  the  elder  lady's  cheek  was 
red  too;  but  that  was  a  permanent  mottled  rose, 
deepening  only  as  it  received  fresh  draughts  of  pale 
ale  and  brandy-and-water,  until  her  face  emulated  the 
rich  shell  of  the  lobster  which  she  devoured. 


PENDENNIS. 


109 


The  gentleman  who  escorted  these  two  ladies  was 
most  active  in  attendance  upon  them  :  here  on  the 
course,  as  he  had  been  during  the  previous  journey. 
During  the  whole  of  that  animated  and  delightful 
drive  from  London,  his  jokes  had  never  ceased.  He 
spoke  up  undauntedly  to  the  most  awful  drags  full  of 
the  biggest  and  most  solemn  guardsmen  as  to  the 
humblest  donkey-chaise  in  which  Bob  the  dustman 
was  driving  Molly  to  the  race.  He  had  fired  aston- 
ishing volleys  of  what  is  called  "  chaff  "  into  endless 
windows  as  he  passed ;  into  lines  of  grinning  girls' 
schools ;  into  little  regiments  of  shouting  urchins 
hurraing  behind  the  railings  of  their  Classical  and 
Commercial  Academies ;  into  casements  whence  smil- 
ing maid-servants,  and  nurses  tossing  babies,  or  de- 
mure old  maiden  ladies  with  dissenting  countenances, 
were  looking.  And  the  pretty  girl  in  the  straw  bon- 
net with  pink  ribbon,  and  her  mamma,  the  devourer 
of  lobsters,  had  both  agreed  that  when  he  was  in 
"  spirits,"  there  was  nothing  like  that  Mr.  Sam.  He 
had  crammed  the  cab  with  trophies  won  from  the 
bankrupt  proprietors  of  the  Sticks  hard  by,  and  with 
countless  pincushions,  wooden  apples,  backy-boxes, 
Jack-in-the-boxes,  and  little  soldiers.  He  had  brought 
up  a  gypsy  with  a  tawny  child  in  her  arms  to  tell  the 
fortunes  of  the  ladies  :  and  the  only  cloud  which 
momentarily  obscured  the  sunshine  of  that  happy 
party,  was  when  the  teller  of  fate  informed  the  young 
lady  that  she  had  had  reason  to  beware  of  a  fair  man, 
who  was  false  to  her :  that  she  had  had  a  bad  illness, 
and  that  she  would  find  that  a  dark  man  would  prove 
true. 

The  girl  looked  very  much  abashed  at  this  news : 
her  mother  and  the  young  man  interchanged  signs  of 
wonder  and  intelligence.    Perhaps  the  conjurer  had 


110 


PENDENNIS. 


used  the  same  words  to  a  hundred  different  carriages 
on  that  day. 

Making  his  way  solitary  amongst  the  crowd  and 
the  carriages,  and  noting,  according  to  his  wont,  the 
various  circumstances  and  characters  which  the  ani- 
mated scene  presented,  a  young  friend  of  ours  came 
suddenly  upon  cab  2002,  and  the  little  group  of  per- 
sons assembled  on  the  outside  of  the  vehicle.  As  he 
caught  sight  of  the  young  lady  on  the  box,  she  started 
and  turned  pale :  her  mother  became  redder  than 
ever:  the  heretofore  gay  and  triumphant  Mr.  Sam 
immediately  assumed  a  fierce  and  suspicious  look, 
and  his  eyes  turned  savagely  from  Fanny  Bolton 
(whom  the  reader,  no  doubt,  has  recognized  in  the 
young  lady  of  the  cab)  to  Arthur  Pendennis,  advanc- 
ing to  meet  her. 

Arthur,  too,  looked  dark  and  suspicious  on  per- 
ceiving Mr.  Samuel  Huxter  in  company  with  his  old 
acquaintances :  but  his  suspicion  was  that  of  alarmed 
morality,  and,  I  dare  say,  highly  creditable  to  Mr. 
Arthur :  like  the  suspicion  of  Mrs.  Lynx,  when  she 
sees  Mr.  Brown  and  Mrs.  Jones  talking  together,  or 
when  she  remarks  Mrs.  Lamb  twice  or  thrice  in  a 
handsome  opera-box.  There  may  be  no  harm  in  the 
conversation  of  Mr.  B.  and  Mrs.  J. :  and  Mrs.  Lamb's 
opera-box  (though  she  notoriously  can't  afford  one) 
may  be  honestly  come  by:  but  yet  a  moralist  like 
Mrs.  Lynx  has  a  right  to  the  little  precautionary 
fright :  and  Arthur  was  no  doubt  justified  in  adopting 
that  severe  demeanor  of  his. 

Fanny's  heart  began  to  patter  violently  :  Huxter's 
fists,  plunged  into  the  pockets  of  his  paletot,  clenched 
themselves  involuntarily,  and  armed  themselves,  as 
it  were,  in  ambush :  Mrs.  Bolton  began  to  talk  with 
all  her  might,  and  with  a  wonderful  volubility :  and 


PENDENNIS. 


Ill 


Lor !  she  was  so  'appy  to  see  Mr.  Pendennis,  and  how 
well  he  was  a  lookin',  and  we 'd  been  talkin'  about  Mr. 
P.  only  jest  before  ;  had  n't  we,  Fanny  ?  and  if  this 
was  the  famous  Hepsom  races  that  they  talked  so 
mu?h  about,  she  didn't  care,  for  her  part,  if  she 
never  saw  them  again.  And  how  was  Major  Pen- 
dennis, and  that  kind  Mr.  Warrington,  who  brought 
Mr.  P.'s  great  kindness  to  Fanny ;  and  she  never 
would  forget  it,  never :  and  Mr.  Warrington  was  so 
tall,  he  almost  broke  his  'ead  up  against  their  lodge 
door.  You  recollect  Mr.  Warrington  a  knockin'  of 
his  head  —  don't  you,  Fanny  ? 

Whilst  Mrs.  Bolton  was  discoursing,  I  wonder  how 
many  thousands  of  thoughts  passed  through  Fanny's 
mind,  and  what  dear  times,  sad  struggles,  lonely 
griefs,  and  subsequent  shame-faced  consolations  were 
recalled  to  her  ?  What  pangs  had  the  poor  little 
thing,  as  she  thought  how  much  she  had  loved  him, 
and  that  she  loved  him  no  more  ?  There  he  stood, 
about  whom  she  was  going  to  die  ten  months  since, 
dandified,  supercilious,  with  a  black  crape  to  his 
white  hat,  and  jet  buttons  in  his  shirt  front :  and  a 
pink  in  his  coat,  that  some  one  else  had  probably 
given  him :  with  the  tightest  lavender-colored  gloves 
sewn  with  black :  and  the  smallest  of  canes.  And 
Mr.  Huxter  wore  no  gloves,  and  great  Blucher  boots, 
and  smelt  very  much  of  tobacco  certainly ;  and 
looked,  oh,  it  must  be  owned,  he  looked  as  if  a  bucket 
of  water  would  do  him  a  great  deal  of  good !  All 
these  thoughts,  and  a  myriad  of  others,  rushed 
through  Fanny's  mind  as  her  mamma  was  delivering 
herself  of  her  speech,  and  as  the  girl,  from  under  her 
eyes,  surveyed  Pendennis  —  surveyed  him  entirely 
from  head  to  foot,  the  circle  on  his  white  forehead 
that  his  hat  left  when  he  lifted  it  (his  beautiful, 


112 


PENDEKNIS. 


beautiful  hair  had  grown  again),  the  trinkets  at  his 
watch-chain,  the  ring  on  his  hand  under  his  glove, 
the  neat  shining  boot,  so,  so  unlike  Sam's  high-low  \ 

—  and  after  her  hand  had  given  a  little  twittering 
pressure  to  the  lavender-colored  kid  grasp  which  was 
held  out  to  it,  and  after  her  mother  had  delivered 
herself  of  her  speech,  all  Fanny  could  find  to  say  was, 
— "  This  is  Mr.  Samuel  Huxter  whom  you  knew 
formerly  I  believe,  sir ;  Mr.  Samuel,  you  know  you 
knew  Mr.  Pendennis  formerly  —  and  —  and,  will  you 
take  a  little  refreshment  ?  " 

These  little  words,  tremulous  and  uncolored  as  they 
were,  yet  were  understood  by  Pendennis  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  take  a  great  load  of  suspicion  from  off 
his  mind  —  of  remorse,  perhaps,  from  his  heart.  The 
frown  on  the  countenance  of  the  prince  of  Fairoaks 
disappeared,  and  a  good-natured  smile  and  a  knowing 
twinkle  of  the  eyes  illuminated  his  highness's  counte- 
nance. "  I  am  very  thirsty,"  he  said,  "  and  I  will  be 
glad  to  drink  your  health,  Fanny ;  and  I  hope  Mr.  Hux- 
ter will  pardon  me  for  having  been  very  rude  to  him 
the  last  time  we  met,  and  when  I  was  so  ill  and  out  of 
spirits,  that  indeed  I  scarcely  knew  what  I  said." 
And  herewith  the  lavender-colored  dexter  kid-glove 
was  handed  out,  in  token  of  amity,  to  Huxter. 

The  dirty  fist  in  the  young  surgeon's  pocket  was 
obliged  to  undouble  itself,  and  come  out  of  its  ambush 
disarmed.  The  poor  fellow  himself  felt,  as  he  laid  it 
in  Pen's  hand,  how  hot  his  own  was,  and  how  black  — 
it  left  black  marks  on  Pen's  gloves  ;  he  saw  them, 

—  he  would  have  liked  to  have  clenched  it  again  and 
dashed  it  into  the  other's  good-humored  face ;  and 
have  seen,  there  upon  that  ground,  with  Fanny,  with 
all  England  looking  on,  which  was  the  best  man  —  he 
Sam  Huxter  of  Bartholomew's,  or  that  grinning  dandy. 


Mr.  Arthur  and  Mr.  Samuel. 


PENDENNIS. 


113 


Pen,  with  ineffable  good-humor,  took  a  glass  —  he 
did  n't  mind  what  it  was  —  he  was  content  to  drink 
after  the  ladies  ;  and  he  filled  it  with  frothing  luke- 
warm beer,  which  he  pronounced  to  be  delicious,  and 
which  he  drank  cordially  to  the  health  of  the  party. 

As  he  was  drinking  and  talking  on  in  an  engaging 
manner,  a  young  lady  in  a  shot  dove-colored  dress, 
with  a  white  parasol  lined  with  pink,  and  the  pret- 
tiest dove-colored  boots  that  ever  stepped,  passed  by 
Pen,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  a  stalwart  gentleman  with 
a  military  mustache. 

The  young  lady  clenched  her  little  fist,  and  gave  a 
mischievous  side-look  as  she  passed  Pen.  He  of  the 
mustachios  burst  out  into  a  jolly  laugh.  He  had 
taken  off  his  hat  to  the  ladies  of  cab  No.  2002.  You 
should  have  seen  Fanny  Bolton's  eyes  watching  after 
the  dove-colored  young  lady  !  Immediately  Huxter 
perceived  the  direction  which  they  took,  they  ceased 
looking  after  the  dove-colored  nymph,  and  they  turned 
and  looked  into  Sam  Huxter's  orbs  with  the  most  art- 
less good-humored  expression. 

"  What  a  beautiful  creature ! 99  Fanny  said.  "  What 
a  lovely  dress !  Did  you  remark,  Mr.  Sam,  such  little, 
little  hands  ?  " 

"  It  was  Capting  Strong,"  said  Mrs.  Bolton :  "  and 
who  was  the  young  woman,  I  wonder  ?  " 

u  A  neighbor  of  mine  in  the  country  —  Miss  Amory," 
Arthur  said,  —  "  Lady  Clavering's  daughter.  You 've 
seen  Sir  Francis  often  in  Shepherd's  Inn,  Mrs. 
Bolton." 

As  he  spoke,  Fanny  built  up  a  perfect  romance  in 
three  volumes  —  love  —  faithlessness  —  splendid  mar- 
riage at  St.  George's  Hanover  Square  —  broken-hearted 
maid  —  and  Sam  Huxter  was  not  the  hero  of  that 
story  —  poor  Sam,  who  by  this  time  had  got  out  an 


114 


PENDENNIS. 


exceedingly  rank  Cuba  cigar,  and  was  smoking  it 
under  Fanny's  little  nose. 

After  that  confounded  prig  Pendennis  joined  and 
left  the  party,  the  sun  was  less  bright  to  Sam  Huxter, 
the  sky  less  blue  —  the  Sticks  had  no  attraction  for 
him  — the  bitter  beer  was  hot  and  undrinkable  —  the 
world  was  changed.  He  had  a  quantity  of  peas  and  a 
tin  pea-shooter  in  the  pocket  of  the  cab  for  amusement 
on  the  homeward  route.  He  didn't  take  them  out, 
and  forgot  their  existence  until  some  other  wag,  on 
their  return  from  the  races,  fired  a  volley  into  Sam's 
sad  face ;  upon  which  salute,  after  a  few  oaths  indica- 
tive of  surprise,  he  burst  into  a  savage  and  sardonic 
laugh. 

But  Fanny  was  charming  all  the  way  home.  She 
coaxed,  and  snuggled,  and  smiled.  She  laughed  pretty 
laughs;  she  admired  everything;  she  took  out  the 
darling  little  Jack-in-the-boxes,  and  was  so  obliged  to 
Sam.  And  when  they  got  home,  and  Mr.  Huxter, 
still  with  darkness  on  his  countenance,  was  taking  a 
frigid  leave  of  her  —  she  burst  into  tears,  and  said  he 
was  a  naughty,  unkind  thing. 

Upon  which,  with  a  burst  of  emotion  almost  as  em- 
phatic as  hers,  the  young  surgeon  held  the  girl  in  his 
arms  —  swore  that  she  was  an  angel,  and  that  he  was 
a  jealous  brute ;  owned  that  he  was  unworthy  of  her, 
and  that  he  had  no  right  to  hate  Pendennis;  and 
asked  her,  implored  her,  to  say  once  more  that  she  — 

That  she  what  ?  —  The  end  of  the  question  and 
Fanny's  answer  were  pronounced  by  lips  that  were  so 
near  each  other,  that  no  bystander  could  hear  the 
words.  Mrs.  Bolton  only  said,  "  Come,  come,  Mr.  H., 
—  no  nonsense,  if  you  please ;  and  I  think  you 've 
acted  like  a  wicked  wretch,  and  been  most  uncommon 
cruel  to  Fanny,  that  I  do." 


PENDENNIS. 


115 


When  Arthur  left  No.  2002,  he  went  to  pay  his  re- 
spects to  the  carriage  to  which,  and  to  the  side  of  her 
mamma,  the  dove-colored  author  of  "  Mes  Larmes  99  had 
by  this  time  returned.  Indefatigable  old  Major  Pen- 
dennis  was  in  waiting  upon  Lady  Clavering,  and  had 
occupied  the  back  seat  in  her  carriage  ;  the  box  being 
in  possession  of  young  Hopeful,  under  the  care  of 
Captain  Strong. 

A  number  of  dandies,  and  men  of  a  certain  fashion 
—  of  military  bucks,  of  young  rakes  of  the  public  offices, 
of  those  who  may  be  styled  men's  men  rather  than 
ladies'  —  had  come  about  the  carriage  during  its  sta- 
tion on  the  hill  —  and  had  exchanged  a  word  or  two 
with  Lady  Clavering,  and  a  little  talk  (a  little  "  chaff 99 
some  of  the  most  elegant  of  the  men  styled  their  con- 
versation) with  Miss  Amory.  They  had  offered  her 
sportive  bets,  and  exchanged  with  her  all  sorts  of  free 
talk  and  knowing  innuendoes.  They  pointed  out  to 
her  who  was  on  the  course  :  and  the  "  who  99  was  not 
always  the  person  a  young  lady  should  know. 

When  Pen  came  up  to  Lady  Clavering's  carriage,  he 
had  to  push  his  way  through  a  crowd  of  these  young 
bucks  who  were  paying  their  court  to  Miss  Amory,  in 
order  to  arrive  as  near  that  young  lady,  who  beckoned 
him  by  many  pretty  signals  to  her  side. 

"  Je  l'ai  vue,"  she  said ;  "  elle  a  de  bien  beaux  yeux  ; 
vous  etes  un  monstre  ! 99 

"  Why  monster  ?  99  said  Pen,  with  a  laugh ;  "  Honi 
soit  qui  mal  y  pense.  My  young  friend,  yonder,  is  as 
well  protected  as  any  young  lady  in  Christendom. 
She  has  her  mamma  on  one  side,  her  pretendu  on  the 
other.  Could  any  harm  happen  to  a  girl  between 
those  two  ?  " 

"  One  does  not  know  what  may  or  may  not  arrive," 
said  Miss  Blanche,  in  French,  "  when  a  girl  has  the 


116 


PENDENNIS. 


mind,  and  when  she  is  pursued  by  a  wicked  monster 
like  you.  Figure  to  yourself,  Colonel,  that  I  come  to 
find  Monsieur,  your  nephew,  near  to  a  cab,  by  two 
ladies,  and  a  man,  oh,  such  a  man !  and  who  ate  lob- 
sters, and  who  laughed,  who  laughed  ! " 

"  It  did  not  strike  me  that  the  man  laughed,"  Pen 
said.  "  And  as  for  lobsters,  I  thought  he  would  have 
liked  to  eat  me  after  the  lobsters.  He  shook  hands 
with  me,  and  griped  me  so,  that  he  bruised  my  glove 
black  and  blue.  He  is  a  young  surgeon.  He  comes 
from  Clavering.  Don't  you  remember  the  gilt  pestle 
and  mortar  in  High  Street  ?  " 

"  If  he  attends  you  when  you  are  sick,"  continued 
Miss  Amory,  "  he  will  kill  you.  He  will  serve  you 
right ;  for  you  are  a  monster." 

The  perpetual  recurrence  to  the  word  "  monster  " 
jarred  upon  Pen.  "  She  speaks  about  these  matters  a 
great  deal  too  lightly,"  he  thought.  "  If  I  had  been  a 
monster,  as  she  calls  it,  she  would  have  received  me 
just  the  same.  This  is  not  the  way  in  which  an  Eng- 
lish lady  should  speak  or  think.  Laura  would  not 
speak  in  that  way,  thank  God ; "  and  as  he  thought 
so,  his  own  countenance  fell. 

"Of  what  are  you  thinking?  Are  you  going  to 
bonder  me  at  present  ? "  Blanche  asked.  "  Major, 
scold  your  mechant  nephew.  He  does  not  amuse  me 
at  all.    He  is  as  bete  as  Captain  Crackenbury." 

"  What  are  you  saying  about  me,  Miss  Amory  ?  "  said 
the  guardsman,  with  a  grin.  "  If  it 's  anything  good, 
say  it  in  English,  for  I  don't  understand  French  whea 
it 's  spoke  so  devilish  quick." 

"  It  ainH  anything  good,  Crack,"  said  Cracken- 
bury's  fellow,  Captain  Clinker.  "  Let 's  come  away, 
and  don't  spoil  sport.  They  say  Pendennis  is  sweet 
upon  her." 


PENDENNIS. 


117 


"  I 'm  told  lie 's  a  devilish  clever  fellow,"  sighed 
Crackenbury.  "  Lady  Violet  Lebas  says  he 's  a  devilish 
clever  fellow.  He  wrote  a  work,  or  a  poem,  or  some- 
thing ;  and  he  writes  those  devilish  clever  things  in 
the  —  in  the  papers,  you  know.  Dammy,  I  wish  / 
was  a  clever  fellow,  Clinker." 

"  That 's  past  wishing  for,  Crack,  my  boy,"  the  other 
said.  "  I  can't  write  a  good  book,  but  I  think  I  can 
make  a  pretty  good  one  on  the  Derby.  What  a  flat 
Clavering  is !  And  the  Begum !  I  like  that  old 
Begum.  She's  worth  ten  of  her  daughter.  How 
pleased  the  old  girl  was  at  winning  the  lottery ! " 

"  Clavering 's  safe  to  pay  up,  ain't  he  ? "  asked 
Captain  Crackenbury. 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  his  friend  ;  and  they  disappeared, 
to  enjoy  themselves  among  the  Sticks. 

Before  the  end  of  the  day's  amusements,  many  more 
gentlemen  of  Lady  Clavering's  acquaintance  came  up 
to  her  carriage,  and  chatted  with  the  party  which  it 
contained.  The  worthy  lady  was  in  high  spirits  and 
good-humor,  laughing  and  talking  according  to  her 
wont,  and  offering  refreshments  to  all  her  friends, 
until  her  ample  baskets  and  bottles  were  emptied,  and 
her  servants  and  postilions  were  in  such  a  royal  state 
of  excitement  as  servants  and  postilions  commonly 
are  upon  the  Derby  day. 

The  Major  remarked  that  some  of  the  visitors  to 
the  carriage  appeared  to  look  with  rather  queer  and 
meaning  glances  towards  its  owner.  "  How  easily  she 
takes  it  !  "  one  man  whispered  to  another.  "  The 
Begum 's  made  of  money,"  the  friend  replied.  "  How 
easily  she  takes  what  ? "  thought  old  Pendennis. 
"  Has  anybody  lost  any  money  ?  "  Lady  Clavering 
said  she  was  happy  in  the  morning  because  Sir 
Francis  had  promised  her  not  to  bet. 


118 


PENDENNIS. 


Mr.  Welbore,  the  country  neighbor  of  the  Claver- 
ings,  was  passing  the  carriage,  when  he  was  called 
back  by  the  Begum,  who  rallied  him  for  wishing  to 
cut  her.  "  Why  did  n't  he  come  before  ?  Why  didn't 
he  come  to  lunch  ?  "  Her  ladyship  was  in  great  de- 
light, she  told  him  —  she  told  everybody,  that  she  had 
won  five  pounds  in  a  lottery.  As  she  conveyed  this 
piece  of  intelligence  to  him,  Mr.  Welbore  looked  so 
particularly  knowing,  and  withal  melancholy,  that  a 
dismal  apprehension  seized  upon  Major  Pendennis. 
"  He  would  go  and  look  after  the  horses  and  those  ras- 
cals of  postilions,  who  were  so  long  in  coming  round." 
When  he  came  back  to  the  carriage,  his  usually  be- 
nign and  smirking  countenance  was  obscured  by  some 
sorrow.  "  What  is  the  matter  with  you  now  ? 99  the 
good-natured  Begum  asked.  The  Major  pretended  a 
headache  from  the  fatigue  and  sunshine  of  the  day. 
The  carriage  wheeled  off  the  course  and  took  its  way 
Londonwards,  not  the  least  brilliant  equipage  in  that 
vast  and  picturesque  procession.  The  tipsy  drivers 
dashed  gallantly  over  the  turf,  amidst  the  admiration 
of  foot-passengers,  the  ironical  cheers  of  the  little 
donkey-carriages  and  spring  vans,  and  the  loud  objur- 
gations of  horse-and-chaise  men,  with  whom  the  reck- 
less post-boys  came  in  contact.  The  jolly  Begum 
looked  the  picture  of  good-humor  as  she  reclined  on 
her  splendid  cushions  ;  the  lovely  Sylphide  smiled 
with  languid  elegance.  Many  an  honest  holiday- 
maker  with  his  family  wadded  into  a  tax-cart,  many 
a  cheap  dandy  working  his  way  home  on  his  weary 
hack,  admired  the  brilliant  turn-out,  and  thought,  no 
doubt,  how  happy  those  "  swells  "  must  be.  Strong 
sat  on  the  box  still,  with  a  lordly  voice  calling  to  the 
post-boys  and  the  crowd.  Master  Frank  had  been  put 
inside  of  the  carriage  and  was  asleep  there  by  the 


PENDENNIS. 


119 


side  of  the  Major,  dozing  away  the  effects  of  the  con- 
stant luncheon  and  champagne  of  which  he  had  freely- 
partaken. 

The  Major  was  revolving  in  his  mind  meanwhile 
the  news  the  receipt  of  which  had  made  him  so  grave. 
"  If  Sir  Francis  Clavering  goes  on  in  this  way,"  Pen- 
dennis  the  elder  thought,  "  this  little  tipsy  rascal  will 
be  as  bankrupt  as  his  father  and  grandfather  before 
him.  The  Begum's  fortune  can't  stand  such  drains 
upon  it :  no  fortune  can  stand  them :  she  has  paid  his 
debts  half  a  dozen  times  already.  A  few  years  more 
of  the  turf,  and  a  few  coups  like  this  will  ruin  her." 

"  Don't  you  think  we  could  get  up  races  at  Claver- 
ing, Mamma  ?  "  Miss  Amory  asked.  "  Yes,  we  must 
have  them  there  again.  There  were  races  there  in  the 
old  times,  the  good  old  times.  It 's  a  national  amuse- 
ment, you  know :  and  we  could  have  a  Clavering  ball : 
and  we  might  have  dances  for  the  tenantry,  and  rustic 
sports  in  the  park  —    Oh,  it  would  be  charming." 

"  Capital  fun,"  said  mamma.  "  Would  n't  it,  Major  ?  " 

"  The  turf  is  a  very  expensive  amusement,  my  dear 
lady,"  Major  Pendennis  answered,  with  such  a  rueful 
face,  that  the  Begum  rallied  him,  and  asked  laughingly 
whether  he  had  lost  money  on  the  race  ? 

After  a  slumber  of  about  an  hour  and  a  half,  the 
heir  of  the  house  began  to  exhibit  symptoms  of  wake- 
fulness, stretching  his  youthful  arms  over  the  Major's 
face,  and  kicking  his  sister's  knees  as  she  sat  opposite 
to  him.  When  the  amiable  youth  was  quite  restored 
to  consciousness,  he  began  a  sprightly  conversation. 

"  I  say,  Ma,"  he  said,  "  I 've  gone  and  done  it  this 
time,  I  have." 

*'  What  have  you  gone  and  done,  Franky,  dear  ?  " 
asked  mamma. 

"  How  much  is  seventeen  half-crowns  ?  Two  pound 


120 


PENDENNIS. 


and  half  a  crown,  ain't  it  ?  I  drew  Borax  in  our 
lottery,  but  I  bought  Podasokus  and  Man-milliner 
of  Leggat  minor  for  two  open  tarts  and  a  bottle  of 
ginger-beer." 

"  You  little  wicked  gambling  creature,  how  dare  you 
begin  so  soon  ?  "  cried  Miss  Amory. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  if  you  please.  Who  ever  asked 
your  leave,  Miss  ?  "  the  brother  said.  "  And  I  say, 
Ma  —  " 

"  Well,  Franky,  dear  ?  " 

"  You  '11  tip  me  all  the  same,  you  know,  when  I  go 
back  —  "  and  here  he  broke  out  into  a  laugh.  "  I  say, 
Ma,  shall  I  tell  you  something  ?  " 

The  Begum  expressed  her  desire  to  hear  this  some- 
thing, and  her  son  and  heir  continued  :  — 

"When  me  and  Strong  was  down  at  the  Grand 
Stand  after  the  race,  and  I  was  talking  to  Leggat 
minor,  who  was  there  with  his  governor,  I  saw  pa 
look  as  savage  as  a  bear.  And  I  say,  Ma,  Leggat 
minor  told  me  that  he  heard  his  governor  say  that 
pa  had  lost  seven  thousand  backing  the  favorite. 
I  '11  never  back  the  favorite  when  I 'm  of  age.  No, 
no  —  hang  me  if  I  do :  leave  me  alone,  Strong,  will 
you  ?  " 

"  Captain  Strong  !  Captain  Strong  !  is  this  true  ?  " 
cried  out  the  unfortunate  Begum.  "  Has  Sir  Francis 
been  betting  again  ?  He  promised  me  he  would  n't. 
He  gave  me  his  word  of  honor  he  would  n't." 

Strong,  from  his  place  on  the  box,  had  overheard 
the  end  of  young  Clavering's  communication,  and 
was  trying  in  vain  to  stop  his  unlucky  tongue. 

"  I 'm  afraid  it 's  true,  Ma'am,"  he  said,  turning 
round.  "  I  deplore  the  loss  as  much  as  you  can. 
He  promised  me  as  he  promised  you ;  but  the  play 
is  too  strong  for  him  !  he  can't  refrain  from  it." 


PENDENNIS. 


121 


Lady  Clavering  at  this  sad  news  burst  into  a  fit  of 
tears.  She  deplored  her  wretched  fate  as  the  most 
miserable  of  women.  She  declared  she  would  separ- 
ate, and  pay  no  more  debts  for  this  ungrateful  man. 
She  narrated  with  tearful  volubility  a  score  of  stories 
only  too  authentic,  which  showed  how  her  husband 
had  deceived,  and  how  constantly  she  had  befriended 
him :  and  in  this  melancholy  condition,  whilst  young 
Hopeful  was  thinking  about  the  two  guineas  which 
he  himself  had  won  ;  and  the  Major  revolving,  in  his 
darkened  mind,  whether  certain  plans  which  he  had 
been  forming  had  better  not  be  abandoned ;  the 
splendid  carriage  drove  up  at  length  to  the  Begum's 
house  in  Grosvenor  Place  ;  the  idlers  and  boys  linger- 
ing about  the  place  to  witness,  according  to  public 
wont,  the  close  of  the  Derby  day,  and  cheering  the 
carriage  as  it  drew  up,  and  envying  the  happy  folks 
who  descended  from  it. 

"  And  it 's  for  the  son  of  this  man  that  I  am  made 
a  beggar ! "  Blanche  said,  quivering  with  anger,  as 
she  walked  up-stairs  leaning  on  the  Major's  arm  — 
"  for  this  cheat  —  for  this  black-leg  —  for  this  liar  — 
for  this  robber  of  women." 

"Calm  yourself,  my  dear  Miss  Blanche,"  the  old 
gentleman  said;  "I  pray  calm  yourself.  You  have 
been  hardly  treated,  most  unjustly.  But  remember 
that  you  have  always  a  friend  in  me;  and  trust  to 
an  old  fellow  who  will  try  and  serve  you." 

And  the  young  lady,  and  the  heir  of  the  hopeful 
house  of  Clavering,  having  retired  to  their  beds,  the 
remaining  three  of  the  Epsom  party  remained  for 
some  time  in  deep  consultation. 


CHAPTER  VIIL 


EXPLANATIONS. 

Almost  a  year,  as  the  reader  will  perceive,  has 
passed  since  an  event  described  a  few  pages  back. 
Arthur's  black  coat  is  about  to  be  exchanged  for  a 
blue  one.  His  person  has  undergone  other  more 
pleasing  and  remarkable  changes.  His  wig  has  been 
laid  aside,  and  his  hair,  though  somewhat  thinner, 
has  returned  to  public  view.  And  he  has  had  the 
honor  of  appearing  at  Court  in  the  uniform  of  a 
Cornet  of  the  Clavering  troop  of  the  —  shire  Yeo- 
manry Cavalry,  being  presented  to  the  Sovereign  by 
\\the  Marquis  of  Steyne. 

This  was  a  measure  strongly  and  pathetically  urged 
by  Arthur's  uncle.  The  Major  would  not  hear  of  a 
year  passing  before  this  ceremony  of  gentlemanhood 
was  gone  through.  The  old  gentleman  thought  that 
his  nephew  should  belong  to  some  rather  more  select 
Club  than  the  Polyanthus  ;  and  has  announced  every- 
where in  the  world  his  disappointment  that  the  young 
man's  property  has  turned  out  not  by  any  means  as 
well  as  he  could  have  hoped,  and  is  under  fifteen 
hundred  a-year. 

That  is  the  amount  at  which  Pendennis's  property 
is  set  down  in  the  world  —  where  his  publishers  begin 
to  respect  him  much  more  than  formerly,  and  where 
even  mammas  are  by  no  means  uncivil  to  him.  For 
if  the  pretty  daughters  are,  naturally,  to  marry  peo- 


PENDENNIS. 


123 


pie  of  very  different  expectations  —  at  any  rate,  he 
will  be  eligible  for  the  plain  ones  :  and  if  the  brilliant 
and  fascinating  Mira  is  to  hook  an  Earl,  poor  little 
Beatrice,  who  has  one  shoulder  higher  than  the  other, 
must  hang  on  to  some  boor  through  life,  and  why 
should  not  Mr.  Pendennis  be  her  support  ?  In  the 
very  first  winter  after  the  accession  to  his  mother's 
fortune,  Mrs.  Hawxby  in  a  country-house  caused  her 
Beatrice  to  learn  billiards  from  Mr.  Pendennis,  and 
would  be  driven  by  nobody  but  him  in  the  pony-car- 
riage, because  he  was  literary  and  her  Beatrice  was 
literary  too,  and  declared  that  the  young  man,  under 
the  instigation  of  his  horrid  old  uncle,  had  behaved 
mo'st  infamously  in  trifling  with  Beatrice's  feelings. 
The  truth  is  the  old  gentleman,  who  knew  Mrs. 
Hawxby's  character,  and  how  desperately  that  lady 
would  practise  upon  unwary  young  men,  had  come  to 
the  country-house  in  question  and  carried  Arthur  out 
of  the  danger  of  her  immediate  claws,  though  not  out 
of  the  reach  of  her  tongue.  The  elder  Pendennis 
would  have  had  his  nephew  pass  a  part  of  the 
Christmas  at  Clavering,  whither  the  family  had  re- 
turned; but  Arthur  had  not  the  heart  for  that, 
Clavering  was  too  near  poor  old  Fairoaks  ;  and  that 
was  too  full  of  sad  recollections  for  the  young  man. 

We  have  lost  sight  of  the  Claverings,  too,  until 
their  reappearance  upon  the  Epsom  race-ground,  and 
must  give  a  brief  account  of  them  in  the  interval. 
During  the  past  year,  the  world  has  not  treated  any 
member  of  the  Clavering  family  very  kindly.  Lady 
Clavering,  one  of  the  best-natured  women  that  ever 
enjoyed  a  good  dinner,  or  made  a  slip  in  grammar, 
has  had  her  appetite  and  good-nature  sadly  tried  by 
constant  family  grievances,  and  disputes  such  as 
make  the  efforts  of  the  best  French  cook  unpalatable, 


124 


PENDENNIS. 


and  the  most  delicately  stuffed  sofa-cushion  hard  to 
lie  on.  "  I 'd  rather  have  a  turnip,  Strong,  for  dessert, 
than  that  pine-apple,  and  all  them  Muscatel  grapes, 
from  Clavering,"  says  poor  Lady  Clavering,  looking 
at  her  dinner-table,  and  confiding  her  griefs  to  her 
faithful  friend,  "  if  I  could  but  have  a  little  quiet  to 
eat  it  with.  Oh,  how  much  happier  I  was  when  I 
was  a  widow,  and  before  all  this  money  fell  in 
to  me  ! 99 

The  Clavering  family  had  indeed  made  a  false  start 
in  life,  and  had  got  neither  comfort,  nor  position,  nor 
thanks  for  the  hospitalities  which  they  administered, 
nor  a  return  of  kindness  from  the  people  whom  they 
entertained.  The  success  of  their  first  London  season 
was  doubtful ;  and  their  failure  afterwards  notorious. 
"  Human  patience  was  not  great  enough  to  put  up 
with  Sir  Francis  Clavering,"  people  said.  "  He  was 
too  hopelessly  low,  dull,  and  disreputable.  You 
could  not  say  what,  but  there  was  a  taint  about  the 
house  and  its  entourages.  Who  was  the  Begum,  with 
her  money,  and  without  her  h's,  and  where  did  she 
come  from?  What  an  extraordinary  little  piece  of 
conceit  the  daughter  was,  with  her  Gallicized  graces 
and  daring  affectations,  not  fit  for  well-bred  English 
girls  to  associate  with !  What  strange  people  were 
those  they  assembled  round  about  them !  Sir  Francis 
Clavering  was  a  gambler,  living  notoriously  in  the 
society  of  black-legs  and  profligates.  Hely  Clinker, 
who  was  in  his  regiment,  said  that  he  not  only 
cheated  at  cards,  but  showed  the  white  feather. 
What  could  Lady  Rockminster  have  meant  by  taking 
her  up  ?  "  After  the  first  season,  indeed,  Lady  Rock- 
minster, who  had  taken  up  Lady  Clavering,  put  her 
down  ;  the  great  ladies  would  not  take  their  daughters 
to  her  parties :  the  young  men  who  attended  them 


PENDENNIS. 


125 


behaved  with  the  most  odious  freedom  and  scornful 
familiarity ;  and  poor  Lady  Clavering  herself  avowed 
that  she  was  obliged  to  take  what  she  called  "the 
canal "  into  her  parlor,  because  the  tiptops  would  n't 
come. 

She  had  not  the  slightest  ill-will  towards  "the 
canal,"  the  poor  dear  lady,  or  any  pride  about  herself, 
or  idea  that  she  was  better  than  her  neighbor ;  but 
she  had  taken  implicitly  the  orders  which  on  her 
entry  into  the  world  her  social  godmother  had  given 
her :  she  had  been  willing  to  know  whom  they  knew, 
and  ask  whom  they  asked.  The  "  canal,"  in  fact, 
was  much  pleasanter  than  what  is  called  "  society ; " 
but,  as  we  said  before,  that  to  leave  a  mistress  is 
easy,  while,  on  the  contrary,  to  be  left  by  her  is  cruel ; 
so  you  may  give  up  society  without  any  great  pang, 
or  anything  but  a  sensation  of  relief  at  the  parting ; 
but  severe  are  the  mortifications  and  pains  you  have 
if  society  gives  up  you. 

One  young  man  of  fashion  we  have  mentioned,  who 
at  least  it  might  have  been  expected  would  have 
been  found  faithful  amongst  the  faithless,  and  Harry 
Foker,  Esq.  was  indeed  that  young  man.  But  he  had 
not  managed  matters  with  prudence ;  and  the  un- 
happy passion  at  first  confided  to  Pen,  became  noto- 
rious and  ridiculous  to  the  town,  was  carried  to  the 
ears  of  his  weak  and  fond  mother,  and  finally  brought 
under  the  cognizance  of  the  bald-headed  and  inflexible 
Foker  senior. 

When  Mr.  Foker  learned  this  disagreeable  news, 
there  took  place  between  him  and  his  son  a  violent 
and  painful  scene  which  ended  in  the  poor  little 
gentleman's  banishment  from  England  for  a  year, 
with  a  positive  order  to  return  at  the  expiration  of 
that  time  and  complete  his  marriage  with  his  cousin  j 


126 


PENDENNIS. 


or  to  retire  into  private  life  and  three  hundred  a 
year  altogether,  and  never  see  parent  or  brewery 
more.  Mr.  Henry  Foker  went  away  then,  carrying 
with  him  that  grief  and  care  which  passes  free  at  the 
strictest  Custom-houses,  and  which  proverbially  ac- 
companies the  exile,  and  with  this  crape  over  his 
eyes,  even  the  Parisian  Boulevard  looked  melancholy 
to  him,  and  the  sky  of  Italy  black. 

To  Sir  Francis  Clavering,  that  year  was  a  most 
unfortunate  one.  The  events  described  in  the  last 
chapter  came  to  complete  the  ruin  of  the  year.  It 
was  that  year  of  grace  in  which,  as  our  sporting 
readers  may  remember,  Lord  Harrowhill's  horse  (he 
was  a  classical  young  nobleman,  and  named  his  stud 
out  of  the  Iliad)  —  when  Podasokus  won  the  Derby, 
to  the  dismay  of  the  knowing  ones,  who  pronounced 
the  winning  horse's  name  in  various  extraordinary 
ways,  and  who  backed  Borax,  who  was  nowhere  in 
the  race.  Sir  Francis  Clavering,  who  was  intimate 
with  some  of  the  most  rascally  characters  of  the  turf, 
and,  of  course,  had  valuable  "information,"  had  laid 
heavy  odds  against  the  winning  horse,  and  backed  the 
favorite  freely,  and  the  result  of  his  dealings  was,  as 
his  son  correctly  stated  to  poor  Lady  Clavering,  a 
loss  of  seven  thousand  pounds. 

Indeed,  it  was  a  cruel  blow  upon  the  lady,  who  had 
discharged  her  husband's  debts  many  times  over  :  who 
had  received  as  many  times  his  oaths  and  promises  of 
amendment;  who  had  paid  his  money-lenders  and 
horse-dealers  ;  who  had  furnished  his  town  and  coun- 
try houses,  and  who  was  called  upon  now  instantly  to 
meet  this  enormous  sum,  the  penalty  of  her  cowardly 
husband's  extravagance. 

It  has  been  described  in  former  pages  how  the  elder 
Pendennis  had  become  the  adviser  of  the  Clavering 


PENDEXXIS. 


127 


family,  and,  in  his  quality  of  intimate  friend  of  the 
house,  had  gone  over  every  room  of  it,  and  even  seen 
that  ugly  closet  which  we  all  of  us  have,  and  in  which, 
according  to  the  proverb,  the  family  skeleton  is  locked 
up.  About  the  Baronet's  pecuniary  matters,  if  the 
Major  did  not  know,  it  was  because  Clavering  himself 
did  not  know  them,  and  hid  them  from  himself  and 
others  in  such  a  hopeless  entanglement  of  lies,  that 
it  was  impossible  for  advisor  or  attorney  or  principal 
to  get  an  accurate  knowledge  of  his  affairs.  But,  con- 
cerning Lady  Clavering,  the  Major  was  much  better 
informed;  and  when  the  unlucky  mishap  of  the 
Derby  arose,  he  took  upon  himself  to  become  com- 
pletely and  thoroughly  acquainted  with  all  her  means, 
whatsoever  they  were;  and  was  now  accurately  in- 
formed of  the  vast  and  repeated  sacrifices  which 
the  widow  Amory  had  made  in  behalf  of  her  present 
husband. 

He  did  not  conceal,  —  and  he  had  won  no  small 
favor  from  Miss  Blanche  by  avowing  it, — his  opinion, 
that  Lady  Clavering's  daughter  had  been  hardly  treated 
at  the  expense  of  her  son,  by  her  second  marriage : 
and  in  his  conversations  with  Lady  Clavering  had 
fairly  hinted  that  he  thought  Miss  Blanche  ought  to 
have  a  better  provision.  We  have  said  that  he  had 
already  given  the  widow  to  understand  that  he  knew 
all  the  particulars  of  her  early  and  unfortunate  his- 
tory, having  been  in  India  at  the  time  when  —  when 
the  painful  circumstances  occurred  which  had  ended 
in  her  parting  from  her  first  husband.  He  could  tell 
her  where  to  find  the  Calcutta  newspaper  which  con- 
tained the  account  of  Amory's  trial,  and  he  showed, 
and  the  Begum  was  not  a  little  grateful  to  him  for 
his  forbearance,  how,  being  aware  all  along  of  this 
mishap  which  had  befallen  her,  he  had  kept  all  know- 


128 


PENDENNIS. 


ledge  of  it  to  himself,  and  been  constantly  the  friend 
of  her  family. 

"Interested  motives,  my  dear  Lady  Clavering,"  he 
said,  "  of  course  I  may  have  had.  We  all  have  inter- 
ested motives,  and  mine,  I  don't  conceal  from  you, 
was  to  make  a  marriage  between  my  nephew  and 
your  daughter."  To  which  Lady  Clavering,  perhaps 
with  some  surprise  that  the  Major  should  choose  her 
family  for  a  union  with  his  own,  said  she  was  quite 
willing  to  consent. 

But  frankly  he  said,  "  My  dear  lady,  my  boy  has 
but  five  hundred  a  year,  and  a  wife  with  ten  thousand 
pounds  to  her  fortune  would  scarcely  better  him.  We 
could  do  better  for  him  than  that,  permit  me  to  say ; 
and  he  is  a  shrewd  cautious  young  fellow  who  has 
sown  his  wild  oats  now  —  who  has  very  good  parts 
and  plenty  of  ambition  —  and  whose  object  in  mar- 
rying is  to  better  himself.  If  you  and  Sir  Francis 
chose — and  Sir  Francis,  take  my  word  for  it,  will 
refuse  you  nothing  —  you  could  put  Arthur  in  a  way 
to  advance  very  considerably  in  the  world,  and  show 
the  stuff  which  he  has  in  him.  Of  what  use  is  that 
seat  in  Parliament  to  Clavering,  who  scarcely  ever 
shows  his  face  in  the  House,  or  speaks  a  word  there  ? 
I 'm  told  by  gentlemen  who  heard  my  boy  at  Oxbridge, 
that  he  was  famous  as  an  orator,  begad !  —  and  once 
put  his  foot  into  the  stirrup  and  mount  him,  I 've  no 
doubt  he  won't  be  the  last  of  the  field,  Ma'am.  I 've 
tested  the  chap,  and  know  him  pretty  well,  I  think. 
He  is  much  too  lazy,  and  careless,  and  flighty  a  feh 
low,  to  make  a  jog-trot  journey,  and  arrive,  as  your 
lawyers  do,  at  the  end  of  their  lives  !  but  give  him  a 
start  and  good  friends,  and  an  opportunity,  and  take 
my  word  for  it,  he  '11  make  himself  a  name  that  his 
sons  shall  be  proud  of.    I  don't  see  any  way  for  a 


PENDENNIS. 


129 


fellow  like  hini  to  parvenir,  but  by  making  a  prudent 
marriage  —  not  with  a  beggarly  heiress  —  to  sit  down 
for  life  upon  a  miserable  fifteen  hundred  a-year  —  but 
with  somebody  whom  he  can  help,  and  who  can  help 
him  forward  in  the  world,  and  whom  he  can  give  a 
good  name  and  a  station  in  the  country,  begad,  in  return 
for  the  advantages  which  she  brings  him.  It  would 
be  better  for  you  to  have  a  distinguished  son-in-law, 
than  to  keep  your  husband  on  in  Parliament,  who 's 
of  no  good  to  himself  or  to  anybody  else  there,  and 
that 's,  I  say,  why  I 've  been  interested  about  you,  and 
offer  you  what  I  think  a  good  bargain  for  both." 

"You  know  I  look  upon  Arthur  as  one  of  the 
family  almost  now,"  said  the  good-natured  Begum ; 
"  he  comes  and  goes  when  he  likes  ;  and  the  more  I 
think  of  his  dear  mother,  the  more  I  see  there 's  few 
people  so  good  —  none  so  good  to  me.  And  I 'm  sure 
I  cried  when  I  heard  of  her  death,  and  would  have 
gone  into  mourning  for  her  myself,  only  black  don't 
become  me.  And  I  know  who  his  mother  wanted 
him  to  marry  —  Laura,  I  mean  —  whom  old  Lady 
Eockminster  has  taken  such  a  fancy  to,  and  no  won- 
der. She 's  a  better  girl  than  my  girl.  I  know  both. 
And  my  Betsy  —  Blanche,  I  mean  —  ain't  been  a  com- 
fort to  me,  Major.    It 's  Laura  Pen  ought  to  marry." 

"  Marry  on  five  hundred  a-year !  My  dear  good 
soul,  you  are  mad ! "  Major  Pendennis  said.  "  Think 
over  what  I  have  said  to  you.  Do  nothing  in  your 
affairs  with  that  unhappy  husband  of  yours  without 
consulting  me  ;  and  remember  that  old  Pendennis  is 
always  your  friend." 

Por  some  time  previous,  Pen's  uncle  had  held  simi- 
lar language  to  Miss  Amory.  He  had  pointed  out  to 
her  the  convenience  of  the  match  which  he  had  at 
heart,  and  was  bound  to  say,  that  mutual  convenience 


130 


PENDENNIS. 


was  of  all  things  the  very  best  in  the  world  to  marry 
upon  —  the  only  thing.  "  Look  at  your  love-mar- 
riages, my  dear  young  creature.  The  love-match 
people  are  the  most  notorious  of  all  for  quarrelling 
afterwards ;  and  a  girl  who  runs  away  with  Jack  to 
Gretna  Green,  constantly  runs  away  with  Tom  to 
Switzerland  afterwards.  The  great  point  in  marriage 
is  for  people  to  agree  to  be  useful  to  one  another. 
The  lady  brings  the  means,  and  the  gentleman  avails 
himself  of  them.  My  boy's  wife  brings  the  horse, 
and  begad  Pen  goes  in  and  wins  the  plate.  That 's 
what  I  call  a  sensible  union.  A  couple  like  that  have 
something  to  talk  to  each  other  about  when  they  come 
together.  If  you  had  Cupid  himself  to  talk  to  —  if 
Blanche  and  Pen  were  Cupid  and  Psyche,  begad  — 
they'd  begin  to  yawn  after  a  few  evenings,  if  they 
had  nothing  but  sentiment  to  speak  on." 

As  for  Miss  Amory,  she  was  contented  enough  with 
Pen  as  long  as  there  was  nobody  better.  And  how 
many  other  young  ladies  are  like  her?  —  and  how 
many  love-marriages  carry  on  well  to  the  last  ?  —  and 
how  many  sentimental  firms  do  not  finish  in  bank- 
ruptcy ?  —  and  how  many  heroic  passions  don't 
dwindle  down  into  despicable  indifference,  or  end  in 
shameful  defeat? 

These  views  of  life  and  philosophy  tfie  Major  was 
constantly,  according  to  his  custom,  inculcating  on 
Pen,  whose  mind  was  such  that  he  could  see  the  right 
on  both  sides  of  many  questions,  and,  comprehending 
the  sentimental  life  which  was  quite  out  of  the  reach 
of  the  honest  Major's  intelligence,  could  understand 
the  practical  life  too,  and  accommodate  himself,  or 
think  he  could  accommodate  himself,  to  it.  So  it 
came  to  pass  that  during  the  spring  succeeding  his 
mother's  death  he  was  a  good  deal  under  the  influence 


PENDENNIS. 


131 


of  his  uncle's  advice,  and  domesticated  in  Lady  Cover- 
ing's house  ;  and  in  a  measure  was  accepted  by  Miss 
Amory  without  being  a  suitor,  and  was  received  with- 
out being  engaged.  The  young  people  were  extremely 
familiar,  without  being  particularly  sentimental,  and 
met  and  parted  with  each  other  in  perfect  good-humor. 
"And  I,"  thought  Pendennis,  "am  the  fellow  who 
eight  years  ago  had  a  grand  passion,  and  last  year  was 
raging  in  a  fever  about  Briseis !  " 

Yes,  it  was  the  same  Pendennis,  and  time  had 
brought  to  him,  as  to  the  rest  of  us,  its  ordinary  con- 
sequences, consolations,  developments.  "We  alter  very 
little.  When  we  talk  of  this  man  or  that  woman 
being  no  longer  the  same  person  whom  we  remember 
in  youth,  and  remark  (of  course  to  deplore)  changes 
in  our  friends,  we  don't,  perhaps,  calculate  that  cir- 
cumstance only  brings  out  the  latent  defect  or  quality, 
and  does  not  create  it.  The  selfish  languor  and  in- 
difference of  to-day's  possession  is  the  consequence  of 
the  selfish  ardor  of  yesterday's  pursuit :  the  scorn  and 
weariness  which  cries  vanitas  vanitatum  is  but  the 
lassitude  of  the  sick  appetite  palled  with  pleasure  : 
the  insolence  of  the  successful  parvenu  is  only  the 
necessary  continuance  of  the  career  of  the  needy 
struggler  :  our  mental  changes  are  like  our  gray  hairs 
or  our  wrinkles  —  but  the  fulfilment  of  the  plan  of 
mortal  growth  and  decay  :  that  which  is  snow-white 
now  was  glossy  black  once  ;  that  which  is  sluggish 
obesity  to-day  was  boisterous  rosy  health  a  few  years 
back ;  that  calm  weariness,  benevolent,  resigned,  and 
disappointed,  was  ambition,  fierce  and  violent,  but  a 
few  years  since,  and  has  only  settled  into  submissive 
repose  after  many  a  battle  and  defeat.  Lucky  he  who 
can  bear  his  failure  so  generously,  and  give  up  his 


132 


PENDENNIS. 


broken  sword  to  Fate  the  Conqueror  with  a  manly 
and  humble  heart !  Are  you  not  awe-stricken,  you, 
friendly  reader,  who,  taking  the  page  up  for  a  mo- 
ment's light  reading,  lay  it  down,  perchance,  for  a 
graver  reflection,  —  to  think  how  you,  who  have  con- 
summated your  success  or  your  disaster,  may  be 
holding  marked  station,  or  a  hopeless  and  nameless 
place,  in  the  crowd  —  who  have  passed  through  how 
many  struggles  of  defeat,  success,  crime,  remorse,  to 
yourself  only  known !  —  who  may  have  loved  and 
grown  cold,  wept  and  laughed  again,  how  often !  — 
to  think  how  you  are  the  same  You,  whom  in  child- 
hood you  remember,  before  the  voyage  of  life  began  ? 
It  has  been  prosperous,  and  you  are  riding  into  port, 
the  people  huzzaing  and  the  guns  saluting,  —  and  the 
lucky  captain  bows  from  the  ship's  side,  and  there  is 
a  care  under  the  star  on  his  breast  which  nobody 
knows  of:  or  you  are  wrecked,  and  lashed,  hopeless, 
to  a  solitary  spar  out  at  sea :  —  the  sinking  man  and 
the  successful  one  are  thinking  each  about  home,  very 
likely,  and  remembering  the  time  when  they  were 
children  ;  alone  on  the  hopeless  spar,  drowning  out  of 
sight;  alone  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd  applauding 
you. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


CONVERSATIONS. 

Our  good-natured  Begum  was  at  first  so  much  en- 
raged at  this  last  instance  of  her  husband's  duplicity 
and  folly,  that  she  refused  to  give  Sir  Francis  Claver- 
ing  any  aid  in  order  to  meet  his  debts  of  honor,  and 
declared  that  she  would  separate  from  him,  and  leave 
him  to  the  consequences  of  his  incorrigible  weakness 
and  waste.  After  that  fatal  day's  transactions  at  the 
Derby,  the  unlucky  gambler  was  in  such  a  condition 
of  mind  that  he  was  disposed  to  avoid  everybody ; 
alike  his  turf-associates  with  whom  he  had  made 
debts  which  he  trembled  lest  he  should  not  have  the 
means  of  paying,  and  his  wife,  his  long-suffering 
banker,  on  whom  he  reasonably  doubted  whether  he 
should  be  allowed  any  longer  to  draw.  When  Lady 
Clavering  asked  the  next  morning  whether  Sir  Francis 
was  in  the  house,  she  received  answer  that  he  had  not 
returned  that  night,  but  had  sent  a  messenger  to  his 
valet,  ordering  him  to  forward  clothes  and  letters  by 
the  bearer.  Strong  knew  that  he  should  have  a  visit 
or  a  message  from  him  in  the  course  of  that  or  the 
subsequent  day,  and  accordingly  got  a  note  beseeching 
him  to  call  upon  his  distracted  friend,  F.  C,  at  Short's 
Hotel,  Blackfriars,  and  ask  for  Mr.  Francis  there. 
For  the  Baronet  was  a  gentleman  of  that  peculiarity 
of  mind  that  he  would  rather  tell  a  lie  than  not,  and 
always  began  a  contest  with  fortune  by  running  away 


134 


PENDENNIS. 


and  hiding  himself.  The  Boots  of  Mr.  Short's  estab- 
lishment, who  carried  Clavering's  message  to  Gros- 
venor  Place,  and  brought  back  his  carpet-bag,  was 
instantly  aware  who  was  the  owner  of  the  bag,  and 
he  imparted  his  information  to  the  footman  who 
was  laying  the  breakfast-table,  who  carried  down  the 
news  to  the  servants'  hall,  who  took  it  to  Mrs.  Bon- 
ner, my  lady's  housekeeper  and  confidential  maid, 
who  carried  it  to  my  lady.  And  thus  every  single 
person  in  the  Grosvenor  Place  establishment  knew 
that  Sir  Francis  was  in  hiding,  under  the  name  of 
Francis,  at  an  inn  in  the  Blackfriars  Road.  And  Sir 
Francis's  coachman  told  the  news  to  other  gentlemen's 
coachmen,  who  carried  it  to  their  masters,  and  to  the 
neighboring  Tattersall's,  where  very  gloomy  anticipa- 
tions were  formed  that  Sir  Francis  Clavering  was 
about  to  make  a  tour  in  the  Levant. 

In  the  course  of  that  day  the  number  of  letters  ad- 
dressed to  Sir  Francis  Clavering,  Bart.,  which  found 
their  way  to  his  hall  table,  was  quite  remarkable. 
The  French  cook  sent  in  his  account  to  my  lady ;  the 
tradesmen  who  supplied  her  ladyship's  table,  and 
Messrs.  Finer  and  Gimcrack,  the  mercers  and  orna- 
mental dealers,  and  Madame  Crinoline,  the  eminent 
milliner,  also  forwarded  their  little  bills  to  her 
ladyship,  in  company  with  Miss  Amory's  private, 
and  by  no  means  inconsiderable,  account  at  each 
establishment. 

In  the  afternoon  of  the  day  after  the  Derby,  when 
Strong  (after  a  colloquy  with  his  principal  at  Short's 
Hotel,  whom  he  found  crying  and  drinking  Curacoa) 
called  to  transact  business  according  to  his  custom  at 
Grosvenor  Place,  he  found  all  these  suspicious  docu- 
ments  ranged  in  the  Baronet's  study ;  and  began  to  open 
them  and  examine  them  with  a  rueful  countenance. 


PEXDENNIS. 


135 


Mrs.  Bonner,  my  lady's  maid  and  housekeeper,  came 
down  upon  him  whilst  engaged  in  this  occupation. 
Mrs.  Bonner,  a  part  of  the  family,  and  as  necessary  to 
her  mistress  as  the  Chevalier  was  to  Sir  Francis,  was 
of  course  on  Lady  Clavering's  side  in  the  dispute  be- 
tween her  and  her  husband,  and  as  by  duty  bound 
even  more  angry  than  her  ladyship  herself. 

"  She  won't  pay,  if  she  takes  my  advice,"  Mrs.  Bon- 
ner said.  "  You  '11  please  to  go  back  to  Sir  Francis, 
Captain  —  and  he  lurking  about  in  a  low  public-house 
and  don't  dare  to  face  his  wife  like  a  man  !  —  and  say 
that  we  won't  pay  his  debts  no  longer.  We  made  a 
man  of  him,  we  took  him  out  of  jail  (and  other  folks 
too  perhaps),  we  've  paid  his  debts  over  and  over  again 
—  we  set  him  up  in  Parliament  and  gave  him  a  house 
in  town  and  country,  and  where  he  don't  dare  show 
his  face,  the  shabby  sneak !  We 've  given  him  the 
horse  he  rides  and  the  dinner  he  eats  and  the  very 
clothes  he  has  on  his  back ;  and  we  will  give  him  no 
more.  Our  fortune,  such  as  is  left  of  it,  is  left  to  our- 
selves, and  we  won't  waste  any  more  of  it  on  this 
ungrateful  man.  We  '11  give  him  enough  to  live  upon 
and  leave  him,  that 's  what  we  '11  do  :  and  that 's  what 
you  may  tell  him  from  Susan  Bonner." 

Susan  Bonner's  mistress  hearing  of  Strong's  arri- 
val sent  for  him  at  this  juncture,  and  the  Chevalier 
went  up  to  her  ladyship  not  without  hopes  that  he 
should  find  her  more  tractable  than  her  factotum 
Mrs.  Bonner.  Many  a  time  before  had  he  pleaded 
his  client's  cause  with  Lady  Clavering  and  caused 
her  good-nature  to  relent.  He  tried  again  once  more. 
He  painted  in  dismal  colors  the  situation  in  which  he 
had  found  Sir  Francis :  and  would  not  answer  for 
any  consequences  which  might  ensue  if  he  could  not 
find  means  of  meeting  his  engagements. 


136 


PENDENNIS. 


"Kill  hisself,"  laughed  Mrs.  Bonner,  "kill  hisself, 
will  he  ?  Dying 's  the  best  thing  he  could  do." 
Strong  vowed  that  he  had  found  him  with  the  razors 
on  the  table  ;  but  at  this,  in  her  turn,  Lady  Clavering 
laughed  bitterly.  "  He  '11  do  himself  no  harm,  as 
long  as  there 's  a  shilling  left  of  which  he  can  rob  a 
poor  woman.  His  life 's  quite  safe,  Captain :  you 
may  depend  upon  that.  Ah  !  it  was  a  bad  day  that 
ever  I  set  eyes  on  him." 

"He's  worse  than  the  first  man,"  cried  out  my 
lady's  aide-de-camp.  "  He  was  a  man,  he  was  —  a 
wild  devil,  but  he  had  the  courage  of  a  man  — 
whereas  this  fellow  —  what 's  the  use  of  my  lady 
paying  his  bills,  and  selling  her  diamonds,  and  for- 
giving him  ?  He  '11  be  as  bad  again  next  year.  The 
very  next  chance  he  has  he  '11  be  a  cheating  of  her, 
and  robbing  of  her ;  and  her  money  will  go  to  keep 
a  pack  of  rogues  and  swindlers  —  I  don't  mean  you, 
Captain — you've  been  a  good  friend  to  us  enough, 
bating  we  wish  we 'd  never  set  eyes  on  you." 

The  Chevalier  saw  from  the  words  which  Mrs. 
Bonner  had  let  slip  regarding  the  diamonds,  that 
the  kind  Begum  was  disposed  to  relent  once  more 
at  least,  and  that  there  were  hopes  still  for  his 
principal. 

"  Upon  my  word,  Ma'am,"  he  said,  with  a  real  feel- 
ing of  sympathy  for  Lady  Clavering's  troubles,  and 
admiration  for  her  untiring  good-nature,  and  with  a 
show  of  enthusiasm  which  advanced  not  a  little  his 
graceless  patron's  cause  —  "  anything  you  say  against 
Clavering,  or  Mrs.  Bonner  here  cries  out  against  me, 
is  no  better  than  we  deserve,  both  of  us,  and  it  was 
an  unlucky  day  for  you  when  you  saw  either.  He 
has  behaved  cruelly  to  you :  and  if  you  were  not  the 
most  generous  and  forgiving  woman  in  the  world,  I 


PENDENNIS. 


137 


know  there  would  be  no  chance  for  him.  But  you 
can't  let  the  father  of  your  son  be  a  disgraced  man, 
and  send  little  Frank  into  the  world  with  such  a 
stain  upon  him.  Tie  him  down;  bind  him  by  any 
promises  you  like  :  I  vouch  for  him  that  he  will 
subscribe  them." 

"And  break  'em,"  said  Mrs.  Bonner. 

"  And  keep  'em  this  time,"  cried  out  Strong.  "  He 
must  keep  them.  If  you  could  have  seen  how  he 
wept,  Ma'am !  '  Oh,  Strong,7  he  said  to  me,  i  it 's  not 
for  myself  I  feel  now  :  it 's  for  my  boy  —  it 's  for  the 
best  woman  in  England,  whom  I  have  treated  basely 
—  I  know  I  have.'  He  did  n't  intend  to  bet  upon 
this  race,  Ma'am — indeed  he  didn't.  He  was  cheated 
into  it:  all  the  ring  was  taken  in.  He  thought  he 
might  make  the  bet  quite  safely,  without  the  least 
risk.  And  it  will  be  a  lesson  to  him  for  all  his  life 
long.    To  see  a  man  cry  —  Oh,  it 's  dreadful." 

"  He  don't  think  much  of  making  my  dear  Missus 
cry,"  said  Mrs.  Bonner  —  "  poor  dear  soul !  —  look  if 
he  does,  Captain." 

"  If  you 've  the  soul  of  a  man,  Clavering,"  Strong 
said  to  his  principal,  when  he  recounted  this  scene  to 
him,  "you'll  keep  your  promise  this  time:  and,  so 
help  me,  Heaven  !  if  you  break  word  with  her,  I  '11 
turn  against  you  and  tell  all." 

"  What,  all  ? "  cried  Mr.  Francis,  to  whom  his 
ambassador  brought  the  news  back  at  Short's  Hotel, 
where  Strong  found  the  Baronet  crying  and  drinking 
Curaqoa. 

"  Psha !  Do  you  suppose  I  am  a  fool  ?  "  burst  out 
Strong.  "  Do  you  suppose  I  could  have  lived  so  long 
in  the  world,  Frank  Clavering,  without  having  my 
eyes  about  me  ?    You  know  I  have  but  to  speak  and 


138 


PENDENNIS. 


you  are  a  beggar  to-morrow.    And  I  am  not  the  only 

man  who  knows  your  secret." 

"  Who  else  does  ?  "  gasped  Clavering. 

"  Old  Pendennis  does,  or  I  am  very  much  mistaken. 
He  recognized  the  man  the  first  night  he  saw  him, 
when  he  came  drunk  into  your  house." 

"  He  knows  it,  does  he  ?  "  shrieked  out  Clavering. 
"Damn  him  —  kill  him." 

"  You 'd  like  to  kill  us  all,  would  n't  you,  old  boy  ?  " 
said  Strong,  with  a  sneer,  puffing  his  cigar. 

The  Baronet  dashed  his  weak  hand  against  his 
forehead  ;  perhaps  the  other  had  interpreted  his  wish 
rightly.  "Oh,  Strong!"  he  cried,  "if  I  dared,  I'd 
put  an  end  to  myself,  for  I 'm  the  d — est  miserable 
dog  in  all  England.  It 's  that  that  makes  me  so  wild 
and  reckless.  It 's  that  which  makes  me  take  to 
drink  (and  he  drank,  with  a  trembling  hand,  a  bumper 
of  his  fortifier  —  the  Curacoa),  and  to  live  about  with 
these  thieves.  I  know  they  're  thieves,  every  one  of 
'em,  d — d  thieves.  And  —  and  how  can  I  help  it  ? 
—  and  I  did  n't  know  it,  you  know  —  and,  by  Gad, 
I 'm  innocent  —  and  until  I  saw  the  d — d  scoundrel 
first,  I  knew  no  more  about  it  than  the  dead  —  and 
I  '11  fly,  and  I  '11  go  abroad  out  of  the  reach  of  the 
confounded  hells,  and  I  '11  bury  myself  in  a  forest,  by 
Gad  !  and  hang  myself  up  to  a  tree  —  and,  oh  —  I 'm 
the  most  miserable  beggar  in  all  England !  "  And  so 
with  more  tears,  shrieks,  and  curses,  the  impotent 
wretch  vented  his  grief  and  deplored  his  unhappy 
fate ;  and,  in  the  midst  of  groans  and  despair  and 
blasphemy,  vowed  his  miserable  repentance. 

The  honored  proverb  which  declares  that  to  be 
an  ill  wind  which  blows  good  to  nobody,  was  verified 
in  the  case  of  Sir  Francis  Clavering,  and  another  of 
the  occupants  of  Mr.  Strong's  chambers  in  Shepherd's 


PENDENNIS. 


139 


Inn.  The  man  was  "  good,"  by  a  lucky  hap,  with  whom 
Colonel  Altamont  made  his  bet ;  and  on  the  settling 
day  of  the  Derby  —  as  Captain  Clinker,  who  was  ap- 
pointed to  settle  Sir  Francis  Clavering's  book  for  him 
(for  Lady  Clavering,  by  the  advice  of  Major  Penden- 
nis,  would  not  allow  the  Baronet  to  liquidate  his 
own  money  transactions),  paid  over  the  notes  to  the 
Baronet's  many  creditors  —  Colonel  Altamont  had  the 
satisfaction  of  receiving  the  odds  of  thirty  to  one  in 
fifties,  which  he  had  taken  against  the  winning  horse 
of  the  day. 

Numbers  of  the  Colonel's  friends  were  present  on 
the  occasion  to  congratulate  him  on  his  luck  —  all 
Altamont' s  own  set  and  the  gents  who  met  in  the 
private  parlor  of  the  convivial  Wheeler,  my  host  of  the 
Harlequin's  Head,  came  to  witness  their  comrade's 
good  fortune,  and  would  have  liked,  with  a  generous 
sympathy  for  success,  to  share  in  it.  "Now  was  the 
time,"  Tom  Diver  had  suggested  to  the  Colonel,  "  to 
have  up  the  specie  ship  that  was  sunk  in  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico,  with  the  three  hundred  and  eighty  thousand 
dollars  on  board,  besides  bars  and  doubloons."  "The 
Tredyddlums  were  very  low  —  to  be  bought  for  an 
old  song  —  never  was  such  an  opportunity  for  buying 
shares,"  Mr.  Keightley  insinuated  ;  and  Jack  Holt 
pressed  forward  his  tobacco-smuggling  scheme,  the 
audacity  of  which  pleased  the  Colonel  more  than  any 
other  of  the  speculations  proposed  to  him.  Then  of 
the  Harlequin's  Head  boys ;  there  was  Jack  Back- 
straw,  who  knew  of  a  pair  of  horses  which  the  Colonel 
must  buy ;  Tom  Fleet,  whose  satirical  paper,  "  The 
Swell,"  wanted  but  two  hundred  pounds  of  capital  to 
be  worth  a  thousand  a-year  to  any  man  —  "  with  such 
a  power  and  influence,  Colonel,  you  rogue,  and  the 
entree  of  all  the  green-rooms  in  London,"  Tom  urged ; 


140 


PENDENNIS. 


whilst  little  Moss  Abrams  entreated  the  Colonel  not 
to  listen  to  these  absurd  fellows  with  their  humbug- 
ging speculations,  but  to  invest  his  money  in  some 
good  bills  which  Moss  could  get  for  him,  and  which 
would  return  him  fifty  per  cent  as  safe  as  the  Bank 
of  England. 

Each  and  all  of  these  worthies  came  round  the 
Colonel  with  their  various  blandishments ;  but  he  had 
courage  enough  to  resist  them,  and  to  button  up  his 
notes  in  the  pocket  of  his  coat,  and  go  home  to  Strong, 
and  "  sport "  the  outer  door  of  the  chambers.  Honest 
Strong  had  given  his  fellow-lodger  good  advice  about 
all  his  acquaintances ;  and  though,  when  pressed,  he 
did  not  mind  frankly  taking  twenty  pounds  himself 
out  of  the  Colonel's  winnings,  Strong  was  a  great  deal 
too  upright  to  let  others  cheat  him. 

He  was  not  a  bad  fellow  when  in  good  fortune,  this 
Altamont.  He  ordered  a  smart  livery  for  Grady,  and 
made  poor  old  Costigan  shed  tears  of  quickly  dried 
gratitude  by  giving  him  a  five-pound  note  after  a  snug 
dinner  at  the  Back  Kitchen,  and  he  bought  a  green 
shawl  for  Mrs.  Bolton,  and  a  yellow  one  for  Fanny : 
the  most  brilliant  "  sacrifices  "  of  a  Regent  Street 
haberdasher's  window.  And  a  short  time  after  this, 
upon  her  birthday,  which  happened  in  the  month  of 
June,  Miss  Amory  received  from  "  a  friend  "  a  parcel 
containing  an  enormous  brass-inlaid  writing-desk,  in 
which  there  was  a  set  of  amethysts,  the  most  hideous 
eyes  ever  looked  upon,  —  a  musical  snuff-box,  and  two 
Keepsakes  of  the  year  before  last,  and  accompanied 
with  a  couple  of  gown-pieces  of  the  most  astounding 
colors,  the  receipt  of  which  goods  made  the  Sylphide 
laugh  and  wonder  immoderately.  Now  it  is  a  fact 
that  Colonel  Altamont  had  made  a  purchase  of  cigars 
and  French  silks  from  some  duffers  in  Fleet  Street 


PENDENNIS. 


141 


about  this  period ;  and  he  was  found  by  Strong  in 
the  open  Auction-Room  in  Cheapside,  having  invested 
some  money  in  two  desks,  several  pairs  of  richly  plated 
candlesticks,  a  dinner  epergne,  and  a  bagatelle-board. 
The  dinner  epergne  remained  at  chambers,  and  figured 
at  the  banquets  there,  which  the  Colonel  gave  pretty 
freely.  It  seemed  beautiful  in  his  eyes,  until  Jack 
Holt  said  it  looked  as  if  it  had  been  taken  "in  a  bill." 
And  Jack  Holt  certainly  knew. 

The  dinners  were  pretty  frequent  at  chambers,  and 
Sir  Francis  Clavering  condescended  to  partake  of  them 
constantly.  His  own  house  was  shut  up :  the  succes- 
sor of  Mirobolant,  who  had  sent  in  his  bills  so  prema- 
turely, was  dismissed  by  the  indignant  Lady  Clavering : 
the  luxuriance  of  the  establishment  was  greatly  pruned 
and  reduced.  One  of  the  large  footmen  was  cashiered, 
upon  which  the  other  gave  warning,  not  liking  to  serve 
without  his  mate,  or  in  a  family  where  on'y  one  foot- 
man was  kep\  General  and  severe  economical  reforms 
were  practised  by  the  Begum  in  her  whole  household, 
in  consequence  of  the  extravagance  of  which  her  grace- 
less husband  had  been  guilty.  The  Major  was  her 
ladyship's  friend ;  Strong  on  the  part  of  poor  Claver- 
ing ;  her  ladyship's  lawyer,  and  the  honest  Begum 
herself,  executed  these  reforms  with  promptitude  and 
severity.  After  paying  the  Baronet's  debts,  the  settle- 
ment of  which  occasioned  considerable  public  scan- 
dal, and  caused  the  Baronet  to  sink  even  lower  in  the 
world's  estimation  than  he  had  been  before,  Lady 
Clavering  quitted  London  for  Tunbridge  Wells  in  high 
dudgeon,  refusing  to  see  her  reprobate  husband,  whom 
nobody  pitied.  Clavering  remained  in  London  pa- 
tiently, by  no  means  anxious  to  meet  his  wife's  just 
indignation,  and  sneaked  in  and  out  of  the  House  of 
Commons,  whence  he  and  Captain  Kaff  and  Mr.  Marker 


142 


PENDENNIS. 


would  go  to  have  a  game  at  billiards  and  a  cigar :  or 
showed  in  the  sporting  public-houses ;  or  he  might  be 
seen  lurking  about  Lincoln's  Inn  and  his  lawyers', 
where  the  principals  kept  him  for  hours  waiting,  and 
the  clerks  winked  at  each  other,  as  he  sat  in  their 
office.  No  wonder  that  he  relished  the  dinners  at 
Shepherd's  Inn,  and  was  perfectly  resigned  there  : 
resigned  ?  he  was  so  happy  nowhere  else ;  he  was 
wretched  amongst  his  equals,  who  scorned  him  —  but 
here  he  was  the  chief  guest  at  the  table,  where  they 
continually  addressed  him  with  "Yes,  Sir  Francis," 
and  "  No,  Sir  Francis ;  "  where  he  told  his  wretched 
jokes,  and  where  he  quavered  his  dreary  little  French 
song,  after  Strong  had  sung  his  jovial  chorus,  and 
honest  Costigan  had  piped  his  Irish  ditties.  Such  a 
jolly  menage  as  Strong's,  with  Grady's  Irish  stew,  and 
the  Chevalier's  brew  of  punch  after  dinner,  would  have 
been  welcome  to  many  a  better  man  than  Clavering, 
the  solitude  of  whose  great  house  at  home  frightened 
him,  where  he  was  attended  only  by  the  old  woman 
who  kept  the  house,  and  his  valet  who  sneered  at 
him. 

"  Yes,  dammit,"  said  he,  to  his  friends  in  Shep- 
herd's Inn.  "  That  fellow  of  mine,  I  must  turn  him 
away,  only  I  owe  him  two  years'  wages,  curse  him, 
and  can't  ask  my  lady.  He  brings  me  my  tea  cold 
of  a  morning,  with  a  dem'd  leaden  tea-spoon,  and  he 
says  my  lady 's  sent  all  the  plate  to  the  banker's  be- 
cause it  ain't  safe.  —  Now  ain't  it  hard  that  she  won't 
trust  me  with  a  single  tea-spoon ;  ain't  it  ungentle- 
manlike,  Altamont  ?  You  know  my  lady 's  of  low 
birth  —  that  is  —  I  beg  your  pardon  —  hem  —  that 
is,  it 's  most  cruel  of  her  not  to  show  more  confi- 
dence in  me.  And  the  very  servants  begin  to  laugh 
—  the  dam  scoundrels  !    I  '11  break  every  bone  in 


PENDENNIS. 


143 


their  great  hulking  bodies,  curse  'em,  I  will.  —  They 
don't  answer  my  bell :  and  —  and  my  man  was  at 
Vauxhall  last  night  with  one  of  my  dress  shirts  and 
my  velvet  waistcoat  on,  —  I  know  it  was  mine  —  the 
confounded  impudent  blackguard  —  and  he  went  on 
dancing  before  my  eyes,  confound  him  !  I 'm  sure 
he  '11  live  to  be  hanged  —  he  deserves  to  be  hanged 
—  all  those  infernal  rascals  of  valets." 

He  was  very  kind  to  Altamont  now  :  he  listened  to 
the  Colonel's  loud  stories  when  Altamont  described 
how  —  when  he  was  working  his  way  home  once  from 
New  Zealand,  where  he  had  been  on  a  whaling  ex- 
pedition—  he  and  his  comrades  had  been  obliged  to 
shirk  on  board  at  night,  to  escape  from  their  wives, 
by  Jove  —  and  how  the  poor  devils  put  out  in  their 
canoes  when  they  saw  the  ship  under  sail,  and  pad- 
dled madly  after  her :  how  he  had  been  lost  in  the 
bush  once  for  three  months  in  New  South  Wales, 
when  he  was  there  once  on  a  trading  speculation : 
how  he  had  seen  Boney  at  Saint  Helena,  and  been 
presented  to  him  with  the  rest  of  the  officers  of  the 
Indiaman  of  which  he  was  a  mate  —  to  all  these  tales 
(and  over  his  cups  Altamont  told  many  of  them ;  and 
it  must  be  owned,  lied  and  bragged  a  great  deal)  Sir 
Francis  now  listened  with  great  attention ;  making  a 
point  of  drinking  wine  with  Altamont  at  dinner,  and 
of  treating  him  with  every  distinction. 

"  Leave  him  alone,  I  know  what  he 's  a  coming  to," 
Altamont  said,  laughing  to  Strong,  who  remonstrated 
with  him,  "and  leave  me  alone:  I  know  what  I'm 
a  telling,  very  well.  I  was  officer  on  board  an  In- 
diaman, so  I  was  :  I  traded  to  New  South  Wales, 
so  I  did,  in  a  ship  of  my  own,  and  lost  her.  I  be- 
came officer  to  the  Nawaub,  so  I  did ;  only  me  and 
my  royal  master  have  had  a  difference,  Strong  — 


144 


PENDENNIS. 


that 's  it.  Who 's  the  better  or  the  worse  for  what 
I  tell  ?  —  or  knows  anything  about  me  ?  The  other 
chap  is  dead  —  shot  in  the  bush,  and  his  body  reckog- 
nized  at  Sydney.  If  I  thought  anybody  would  split, 
do  you  think  I  would  n't  wring  his  neck  ?  I 've  done 
as  good  before  now,  Strong  —  I  told  you  how  I  did 
for  the  overseer  before  I  took  leave  —  but  in  fair 
fight  I  mean  —  in  fair  fight ;  or,  rayther,  he  had  the 
best  of  it.  He  had  his  gun  and  bay'net,  and  I  had 
only  an  axe.    Fifty  of  'em  saw  it  —  ay,  and  cheered 

me  when  I  did  it  —  and  I 'd  do  it  again,  him, 

would  n't  I  ?  I  ain't  afraid  of  anybody ;  and  I 'd 
have  the  life  of  the  man  who  split  upon  me.  That 's 
my  maxim,  and  pass  me  the  liquor  —  You  would  n't 
turn  on  a  man.  I  know  you.  You  're  an  honest 
feller,  and  will  stand  by  a  feller,  and  have  looked 
death  in  the  face  like  a  man.  But  as  for  that  lily- 
livered  sneak  —  that  poor  lyin'  swindlin'  cringin'  cur 
of  a  Clavering  —  who  stands  in  my  shoes  —  stands 
in  my  shoes,  hang  him !  I  '11  make  him  pull  my 
boots  off  and  clean  'em,  I  will.  Ha,  ha ! "  Here  he 
burst  out  into  a  wild  laugh,  at  which  Strong  got  up  and 
put  away  the  brandy-bottle.  The  other  still  laughed 
good-humoredly.  "  You  're  right,  old  boy,"  he  said  ; 
"  you  always  keep  your  head  cool,  you  do  —  and  when 
I  begin  to  talk  too  much  —  I  say,  when  I  begin  to 
pitch,  I  authorize  you,  and  order  you,  and  command 
you,  to  put  away  the  brandy-bottle." 

The  event  for  which,  with  cynical  enjoyment,  Alta- 
mont  had  been  on  the  look-out,  came  very  speedily. 
One  day,  Strong  being  absent  upon  an  errand  for  his 
principal,  Sir  Francis  made  his  appearance  in  the 
chambers,  and  found  the  envoy  of  the  Nawaub  alone. 
He  abused  the  world  in  general  for  being  heartless 
and  unkind  to  him  :  he  abused  his  wife  for  being  un- 


PENDENNIS. 


145 


generous  to  him  :  he  abused  Strong  for  being  ungrate- 
ful —  hundreds  of  pounds  had  he  given  Ned  Strong  — 
been  his  friend  for  life  and  kept  him  out  of  jail,  by 
Jove,  —  and  now  Ned  was  taking  her  ladyship's  side 
against  him  and  abetting  her  in  her  infernal  unkind 
treatment  of  him.  "  They 've  entered  into  a  conspiracy 
to  keep  me  penniless,  Altamont,"  the  Baronet  said  : 
"  they  don't  give  me  as  much  pocket-money  as  Frank 
has  at  school." 

"Why  don't  you  go  down  to  Richmond  and  borrow 
of  him,  Clavering  ? "  Altamont  broke  out  with  a 
savage  laugh.  "  He  would  n't  see  his  poor  old  beggar 
of  a  father  without  pocket-money,  would  he  ?  " 

"  I  tell  you,  I 've  been  obliged  to  humiliate  myself 
cruelly,"  Clavering  said.  "Look  here,  sir, — look 
here,  at  these  pawn-tickets  !  Fancy  a  Member  of  Par- 
liament and  an  old  English  Baronet,  by  Gad  !  obliged 
to  put  a  drawing-room  clock  and  a  Buhl  inkstand  up 
the  spout ;  and  a  gold  duck's  head  paper-holder,  that 
I  dare  say  cost  my  wife  five  pound,  for  which  they 'd 
only  give  me  fifteen-and-six  !  Oh,  it 's  a  humiliating 
thing,  sir,  poverty  to  a  man  of  my  habits ;  and  it 's 
made  me  shed  tears,  sir,  —  tears  ;  and  that  d — d  valet 
of  mine  —  curse  him,  I  wish  he  was  hanged !  —  has 
had  the  confounded  impudence  to  threaten  to  tell  my 
lady :  as  if  the  things  in  my  own  house  were  n't  my 
own,  to  sell  or  to  keep,  or  to  fling  out  of  window  if  I 
choose — by  Gad!  the  confounded  scoundrel." 

"  Cry  a  little  ;  don't  mind  cryin'  before  me  —  it  '11 
relieve  you,  Clavering,"  the  other  said.  "  Why,  I  say, 
old  feller,  what  a  happy  feller  I  once  thought  you,  and 
what  a  miserable  son  of  a  gun  you  really  are  !  " 

"  It 's  a  shame  that  they  treat  me  so,  ain't  it  ?  "  Clav- 
ering went  on,  —  for  though  ordinarily  silent  and  apa- 
thetic, about  his  own  griefs  the  Baronet  could  whine 


146 


PENDENNIS. 


for  an  hour  at  a  time.    "And  —  and,  by  Gad,  sir,  I 

have  n't  got  the  money  to  pay  the  very  cab  that 's 
waiting  for  me  at  the  door;  and  the  porteress,  that 
Mrs.  Bolton,  lent  me  three  shillin's,  and  I  don't  like  to 
ask  her  for  any  more  :  and  I  asked  that  d — d  old  Cos- 
tigan,  the  confounded  old  penniless  Irish  miscreant, 
and  he  had  n't  got  a  shillin',  the  beggar  ;  and  Campion 's 
out  of  town,  or  else  he 'd  do  a  little  bill  for  me,  I  know 
he  would." 

"  I  thought  you  swore  on  your  honor  to  your  wife 
that  you  would  n't  put  your  name  to  paper/'  said  Mr. 
Altamont,  puffing  at  his  cigar. 

"  Why  does  she  leave  me  without  pocket-money 
then  ?  Damme,  I  must  have  money,"  cried  out  the 
Baronet.  "  Oh,  Am — ,  Oh,  Altamont,  I 'm  the  most 
miserable  beggar  alive." 

"  You  'd  like  a  chap  to  lend  you  a  twenty-pound  note, 
would  n't  you,  now  ?  "  the  other  asked. 

"  If  you  would,  I 'd  be  grateful  to  you  for  ever  —  for 
ever,  my  dearest  friend,"  cried  Clavering. 

"  How  much  would  you  give  ?  Will  you  give  a  fifty- 
pound  bill,  at  six  months,  for  half  down  and  half  in 
plate  ?  "  asked  Altamont. 

"  Yes,  I  would,  so  help  me  ,  and  pay  it  on  the 

day,"  screamed  Clavering.  "  I  '11  make  it  payable  at 
my  banker's  :  I  '11  do  anything  you  like." 

"Well,  I  was  only  chaffing  you.  I'll  give  you 
twenty  pound." 

"  You  said  a  pony,"  interposed  Clavering ;  "  my 
dear  fellow,  you  said  a  pony,  and  I  '11  be  eternally 
obliged  to  you ;  and  I  '11  not  take  it  as  a  gift —  only  as 
a  loan,  and  pay  you  back  in  six  months.  I  take  my 
oath  I  will." 

"  Well  —  well  —  there 's  the  money,  Sir  Francis 
Clavering.    I  ain't  a  bad  fellow.    When  I 've  money 


PENDENNIS. 


147 


in  my  pocket,  dammy,  I  spend  it  like  a  man.  Here 's 
five-and-twenty  for  you.  Don't  be  losing  it  at  the 
hells  now.  Don't  be  making  a  fool  of  yourself.  Go 
down  to  Clavering  Park,  and  it  '11  keep  you  ever  so 
long.  You  need  n't  'ave  butchers'  meat :  there  's  pigs, 
I  dare  say,  on  the  premises  :  and  you  can  shoot  rabbits 
for  dinner,  you  know,  every  day  till  the  game  comes 
in.  Besides,  the  neighbors  will  ask  you  about  to  din- 
ner, you  know,  sometimes,  for  you  are  a  Baronet, 
though  you  have  outrun  the  constable.  And  you  've 
got  this  comfort,  that  /'m  off  your  shoulders  for  a 
good  bit  to  come  —  p'raps  this  two  years  —  if  I  don't 
play ;  and  I  don't  intend  to  touch  the  confounded 
black  and  red :  and  by  that  time  my  lady,  as  you  call 
her  —  Jimmy,  I  used  to  say  —  will  have  come  round 
again ;  and  you  '11  be  ready  for  me,  you  know,  and 
come  down  handsomely  to  yours  truly." 

At  this  juncture  of  their  conversation  Strong  re- 
turned, nor  did  the  Baronet  care  much  about  prolong- 
ing the  talk,  having  got  the  money ;  and  he  made  his 
way  from  Shepherd's  Inn,  and  went  home  and  bullied 
his  servant  in  a  manner  so  unusually  brisk  and  inso. 
lent,  that  the  man  concluded  his  master  must  have 
pawned  some  more  of  the  house  furniture,  or,  at  any 
rate,  have  come  into  possession  of  some  ready  money. 

M  And  yet  I 've  looked  over  the  house,  Morgan,  and 
I  don't  think  he  has  took  any  more  of  the  things," 
Sir  Francis's  valet  said  to  Major  Pendennis's  man,  as 
they  met  at  their  Club  soon  after.  "  My  lady  locked 
up  a'most  all  the  bejewtary  afore  she  went  away,  and 
he  could  n't  take  away  the  picters  and  looking- 
glasses  in  a  cab:  and  he  wouldn't  spout  the  fenders 
and  fire-irons  —  he  ain't  so  bad  as  that.  But  he 's  got 
money  somehow.    He 's  so  dam'd  imperent  when  he 


148 


PENDENNIS. 


have.  A  few  nights  ago  I  sor  him  at  Vauxhall, 
where  I  was  a  poikin  with  Lady  Hemly  Badewood's 
gals  —  a  wery  pleasant  room  that  is,  and  an  uncom- 
mon good  lot  in  it,  hall  except  the  'ousekeeper,  and 
she 's  methodisticle  —  I  was  a  poikin — you  're  too  old  a 
cove  to  polk,  Mr.  Morgan  —  and  'ere 's  your  'ealth  — 
and  I  'appened  to  'ave  on  some  of  Clavering's  abber- 
dashery,  and  he  sor  it  too :  and  he  did  n't  dare  so 
much  as  speak  a  word." 

"  How  about  the  house  in  St.  J ohn's  Wood  ?  "  Mr. 
Morgan  asked. 

"  Execution  in  it.  —  Sold  up  hevery  thing :  ponies, 
and  pianna,  and  brougham,  and  all.  Mrs.  Montague 
Rivers  hoff  to  Boulogne,  —  non  est  inwentus,  Mr.  Mor- 
gan. It 's  my  belief  she  put  the  execution  in  herself: 
and  was  tired  of  him." 

"  Play  much  ?  "  asked  Morgan. 

"Not  since  the  smash.  "When  your  Governor,  and 
the  lawyers,  and  my  lady  and  him  had  that  tremendu- 
ous  scene :  he  went  down  on  his  knees,  my  lady  told 
Mrs.  Bonner,  as  told  me, — and  swoar  as  he  never 
more  would  touch  a  card  or  a  dice,  or  put  his  name  to 
a  bit  of  paper ;  and  my  lady  was  a  goin'  to  give  him 
the  notes  down  to  pay  his  liabilities  after  the  race : 
only  your  Governor  said,  (which  he  wrote  it  on  a 
piece  of  paper,  and  passed  it  across  the  table  to  the 
lawyer  and  my  lady),  that  some  one  else  had  better 
book  up  for  him,  for  he 'd  have  kep'  some  of  the 
money.    He's  a  sly  old  cove,  your  Gov'nor." 

The  expression  of  "old  cove,"  thus  flippantly  ap- 
plied by  the  younger  gentleman  to  himself  and  his 
master,  displeased  Mr.  Morgan  exceedingly.  On  the 
first  occasion,  when  Mr.  Lightfoot  used  the  obnoxious 
expression,  his  comrade's  anger  was  only  indicated  by 
a  silent  frown ;  but  on  the  second  offence,  Morgan, 


PENDENNIS. 


149 


who  was  smoking  his  cigar  elegantly,  and  holding  it 
on  the  tip  of  his  penknife,  withdrew  the  cigar  from 
his  lips,  and  took  his  young  friend  to  task. 

"  Don't  call  Major  Pendennis  an  old  cove,  if  you  '11 
'ave  the  goodness,  Lightfoot,  and  don't  call  me  an  old 
cove,  nether.  Such  words  ain't  used  in  society ;  and 
we  have  lived  in  the  fust  society,  both  at  'ome  and 
foring.  We've  been  intimate  with  the  fust  states- 
men of  Europe.  When  we  go  abroad  we  dine  with 
Prince  Metternich  and  Louy  Philup  reg'lar.  We  go 
here  to  the  best  houses,  the  tip  tops,  I  tell  you.  We 
ride  with  Lord  John  and  the  noble  Whycount  at  the 
edd  of  Foring  Affairs.  We  dine  with  the  Hearl  of 
Burgrave,  and  are  consulted  by  the  Marquis  of 
Steyne,  in  every  think.  We  ought  to  know  a  thing  or 
two,  Mr.  Lightfoot.  You  're  a  young  man ;  I'm  aa 
old  cove,  as  you  say.  We've  both  seen  the  world, 
and  we  both  know  that  it  ain't  money,  nor  bein'  a 
Baronet,  nor  'avin'  a  town  and  country  'ouse,  nor  a 
paltry  five  or  six  thousand  a  year." 

"  It 's  ten,  Mr.  Morgan,"  cried  Mr.  Lightfoot,  with 
great  animation. 

"It  may  have  been,  sir,"  Morgan  said,  with  calm 
severity;  "it  may  have  been,  Mr.  Lightfoot,  but  it 
ain't  six  now,  nor  five,  sir.  It 's  been  doosedly  dipped 
and  cut  into,  sir,  by  the  confounded  extravygance  of 
your  master,  with  his  helbow  shakin',  and  his  bill  dis- 
counting and  his  cottage  in  the  Regency  Park,  and 
his  many  wickednesses.  He 's  a  bad  un,  Mr.  Light- 
foot,—  a  bad  lot  sir,  and  that  you  know.  And  it  ain't 
money,  sir, — not  such  money  as  that,  at  any  rate, 
come  from  a  Calcuttar  attorney,  and  I  dussay  wrung 
out  of  the  pore  starving  blacks — that  will  give  a 
pusson  position  in  society,  as  you  know  very  well. 
We 've  no  money,  but  we  go  everywhere  ;  there 's  not 


150 


PENDENNJS. 


a  housekeeper's  room,  sir,  in  this  town  of  any  consi- 
quince,  where  James  Morgan  ain't  welcome.  And  it 
was  me  who  got  you  into  this  Club,  Lightfoot,  as  you 
very  well  know,  though  I  am  an  old  cove,  and  they 
would  have  blackballed  you  without  me  as  sure  as 
your  name  is  Frederic." 

"  I  know  they  would,  Mr.  Morgan,"  said  the  other, 
with  much  humility. 

"Well,  then,  don't  call  me  an  old  cove,  sir.  It 
ain't  gentlemanlike,  Frederic  Lightfoot,  which  I 
knew  you  when  you  was  a  cab-boy,  and  when  your 
father  was  in  trouble,  and  got  you  the  place  you  have 
now  when  the  Frenchman  went  away.  And  if  you 
think,  sir,  that  because  you  're  making  up  to  Mrs. 
Bonner,  who  may  have  saved  her  two  thousand  pound 
—  and  I  daresay  she  has  in  five-and-twenty  years,  as  she 
have  lived  confidential  maid  to  Lady  Clavering  —  yet, 
sir,  you  must  remember  who  put  you  into  that  service, 
and  you  knows  what  you  were  before,  sir,  and  it  don't 
become  you,  Frederic  Lightfoot,  to  call  me  an  old 
cove." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Morgan  —  I  can't  do  more 
than  make  an  apology  —  will  you  have  a  glass,  sir, 
and  let  me  drink  your  'ealth  ?  " 

"You  know  I  don't  take  sperrits,  Lightfoot,"  re- 
plied Morgan,  appeased.  "And  so  you  and  Mrs. 
Bonner  is  going  to  put  up  together,  are  you  ?  " 

"  She 's  old,  but  two  thousand  pound 's  a  good  bit, 
you  see,  Mr.  Morgan.  And  we  '11  get  the  <  Clavering 
Arms  '  for  a  very  little ;  and  that  '11  be  no  bad  thing 
when  the  railroad  runs  through  Clavering.  And  when 
we  are  there,  I  hope  you  '11  come  and  see  us,  Mr. 
Morgan." 

"It's  a  stoopid  place,  and  no  society,"  said  Mr. 
Morgan.    "I  know  it  well.     In  Mrs.  Pendennis's 


PENDENNIS. 


151 


time  we  used  to  go  down  reg'lar,  and  the  hair  re- 
freshed me  after  the  London  racket." 

"  The  railroad  will  improve  Mr.  Arthur's  property," 
remarked  Lightf oot.  "  What 's  about  the  figure  of  it, 
should  you  say,  sir  ?  " 

"  Under  fifteen  hundred,  sir,"  answered  Morgan  ; 
at  which  the  other,  who  knew  the  extent  of  poor 
Arthur's  acres,  thrust  his  tongue  in  his  cheek,  but 
remained  wisely  silent. 

"  Is  his  man  any  good,  Mr.  Morgan  ? "  Lightfoot 
resumed. 

"  Pidgeon  ain't  used  to  society  as  yet ;  but  he 's 
young  and  has  good  talents,  and  has  read  a  good  deal, 
and  I  dessay  he  will  do  very  well,"  replied  Morgan. 
"  He  would  n't  quite  do  for  this  kind  of  thing,  Light- 
foot,  for  he  ain't  seen  the  world  yet." 

When  the  pint  of  sherry  for  which  Mr.  Lightfoot 
called,  upon  Mr.  Morgan's  announcement  that  he  de- 
clined to  drink  spirits,  had  been  discussed  by  the  two 
gentlemen,  who  held  the  wine  up  to  the  light,  and 
smacked  their  lips,  and  winked  their  eyes  at  it,  and 
rallied  the  landlord  as  to  the  vintage,  in  the  most  ap- 
proved manner  of  connoisseurs,  Morgan's  ruffled  equa- 
nimity was  quite  restored,  and  he  was  prepared  to 
treat  his  young  friend  with  perfect  good-humor. 

"  What  d  'you  think  about  Miss  Amory,  Lightfoot 
—  tell  us  in  confidence,  now  —  Do  you  think  we 
should  do  well  —  you  understand  —  if  we  make  Miss 
A.  into  Mrs.  A.  P.,  comprendy  vous  ? " 

"She  and  her  ma's  always  quarrelin',"  said  Mr. 
Lightfoot.  "  Bonner  is  more  than  a  match  for  the  old 
lady,  and  treats  Sir  Francis  like  —  like  this  year  spill, 
which  I  fling  into  the  grate.  But  she  dare  n't  say  a 
word  to  Miss  Amory.  No  more  dare  none  of  us. 
When  a  visitor  comes  in,  she  smiles  and  languishes, 


152 


PENDENNIS. 


yon 'd  think  that  bntter  would  n't  melt  in  her  month : 
and  the  minute  he  is  gone,  very  likely,  she  flares  up 
like  a  little  demon,  and  says  things  fit  to  send  you 
wild.  If  Mr.  Arthur  comes,  it's  'Do  let's  sing  that 
there  delightful  song  ! '  or,  '  Come  and  write  me  them 
pooty  verses  in  this  halbum ! '  and  very  likely  she 's 
been  a  rilin'  her  mother,  or  sticking  pins  into  her 
maid,  a  minute  before.  She  do  stick  pins  into  her 
and  pinch  her.  Mary  Hann  showed  me  one  of  her 
arms  quite  black  and  blue ;  and  I  recklect  Mrs.  Bon- 
ner, who 's  as  jealous  of  me  as  a  old  cat,  boxed  her 
ears  for  showing  me.  And  then  you  should  see  Miss 
at  luncheon,  when  there 's  nobody  but  the  family. 
She  makes  b'lieve  she  never  heats,  and  my !  you 
should  only  jest  see  her.  She  has  Mary  Hann  to 
bring  her  up  plum-cakes  and  creams  into  her  bed- 
room; and  the  cook 's  the  only  man  in  the  house  she  's 
civil  to.  Bonner  says,  how,  the  second  season  in 
London,  Mr.  Soppington  was  a  goin'  to  propose  for 
her,  and  actially  came  one  day,  and  sor  her  fling  a 
book  into  the  fire,  and  scold  her  mother  so,  that  he 
went  down  softly  by  the  back  droring-room  door, 
which  he  came  in  by;  and  next  thing  we  heard  of 
him  was,  he  was  married  to  Miss  Rider.  Oh,  she 's 
a  devil,  that  little  Blanche,  and  that's  my  candig 
apinium,  Mr.  Morgan." 

"  Apinion,  not  apinium,  Lightfoot,  my  good  fellow," 
Mr.  Morgan  said,  with  parental  kindness  ;  and  then 
asked  of  his  own  bosom,  with  a  sigh,  why  the  deuce 
does  my  Governor  want  Master  Arthur  to  marry  such 
a  girl  as  this  ?  and  the  tete-a-tete  of  the  two  gentlemen 
was  broken  up  by  the  entry  of  other  gentlemen,  mem- 
bers of  the  Club  —  when  fashionable  town-talk,  poli- 
tics, cribbage,  and  other  amusements  ensued,  and  the 
conversation  became  general. 


PENDENNIS. 


153 


The  Gentlemen's  Club  was  held  in  the  parlor  of  the 
"  Wheel  of  Fortune  "  public-house,  in  a  snug  little  by- 
lane,  leading  out  of  one  of  the  great  streets  of  May 
Fair,  and  frequented  by  some  of  the  most  select 
gentlemen  about  town.  Their  masters'  affairs,  debts, 
intrigues,  adventures ;  their  ladies'  good  and  bad 
qualities  and  quarrels  with  their  husbands  ;  all  the 
family  secrets  were  here  discussed  with  perfect  free- 
dom and  confidence  :  and  here,  when  about  to  enter 
into  a  new  situation,  a  gentleman  was  enabled  to  get 
every  requisite  information  regarding  the  family  of 
which  he  proposed  to  become  a  member.  Liveries,  it 
may  be  imagined,  were  excluded  from  this  select 
precinct;  and  the  powdered  heads  of  the  largest 
metropolitan  footmen  might  bow  down  in  vain  en- 
treating admission  into  the  Gentleman's  Club.  These 
outcast  giants  in  plush  took  their  beer  in  an  outer 
apartment  of  the  "  Wheel  of  Fortune,"  and  could  no 
more  get  an  entry  into  the  Club  room  than  a  Pall 
Mall  tradesman  or  a  Lincoln's  Inn  attorney  could  get 
admission  into  Bays's  or  Spratt's.  And  it  is  because 
the  conversation  which  we  have  been  permitted  to 
overhear  here,  in  some  measure  explains  the  characters 
and  bearings  of  our  story,  that  we  have  ventured  to 
introduce  the  reader  into  a  society  so  exclusive. 


CHAPTER  X. 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  WORLD. 

A  short  time  after  the  piece  of  good  fortune  which 
befell  Colonel  Altamont  at  Epsom,  that  gentleman 
put  into  execution  his  projected  foreign  tour,  and  the 
chronicler  of  the  polite  world  who  goes  down  to 
London  Bridge  for  the  purpose  of  taking  leave  of  the 
people  of  fashion  who  quit  this  country,  announced 
that  among  the  company  on  board  the  Soho  to  Ant- 
werp last  Saturday,  were  "  Sir  Robert,  Lady,  and  the 
Misses  Hodge ;  Mr.  Serjeant  Kewsy,  and  Mrs.  and 
Miss  Kewsy;  Colonel  Altamont,  Major  Coddy,"  etc. 
The  Colonel  travelled  in  state,  and  as  became  a  gentle- 
man :  he  appeared  in  a  rich  travelling  costume ;  he 
drank  brandy-and-water  freely  during  the  passage, 
and  was  not  sick,  as  some  of  the  other  passengers 
were ;  and  he  was  attended  by  his  body  servant,  the 
faithful  Irish  legionary  who  had  been  for  some  time 
in  waiting  upon  himself  and  Captain  Strong  in  their 
chambers  of  Shepherd's  Inn. 

The  Chevalier  partook  of  a  copious  dinner  at  Black- 
wall  with  his  departing  friend  the  Colonel,  and  one  or 
two  others,  who  drank  many  healths  to  Altamont  at 
that  liberal  gentleman's  expense.  "  Strong,  old  boy," 
the  Chevalier's  worthy  chum  said,  "  if  you  want  a 
little  money,  now 's  your  time.  I 'm  your  man. 
You  're  a  good  feller,  and  have  been  a  good  feller  to 
me,  and  a  twenty-pound  note  more  or  less  will  make  no 
odds  to  me."    But  Strong  said,  No,  he  did  n't  want 


PENDENNIS. 


155 


any  money;  he  was  flush,  quite  flush  —  "that  is,  not 
flush  enough  to  pay  you  back  your  last  loan,  Altamont, 
but  quite  able  to  carry  on  for  some  time  to  come  —  " 
and  so,  with  a  not  uncordial  greeting  between  them, 
the  two  parted.  Had  the  possession  of  money  really 
made  Altamont  more  honest  and  amiable  than  he  had 
hitherto  been,  or  only  caused  him  to  seem  more 
amiable  in  Strong's  eyes  ?  Perhaps  he  really  was 
better ;  and  money  improved  him.  Perhaps  it  was 
the  beauty  of  wealth  Strong  saw  and  respected.  But 
he  argued  within  himself,  "  This  poor  devil,  this  un- 
lucky outcast  of  a  returned  convict,  is  ten  times  as 
good  a  fellow  as  my  friend  Sir  Francis  Clavering, 
Bart.  He  has  pluck  and  honesty  in  his  way.  He 
will  stick  to  a  friend,  and  face  an  enemy.  The  other 
never  had  courage  to  do  either.  And  what  is  it  that 
has  put  the  poor  devil  under  a  cloud  ?  He  was  only 
a  little  wild,  and  signed  his  father-in-law's  name. 
Many  a  man  has  done  worse,  and  come  to  no  wrong, 
and  holds  his  head  up.  Clavering  does.  No,  he  don't 
hold  his  head  up;  he  never  did  in  his  best  days." 
And  Strong,  perhaps,  repented  him  of  the  falsehood 
which  he  had  told  to  the  free-handed  Colonel,  that  he 
was  not  in  want  of  money ;  but  it  was  a  falsehood  on 
the  side  of  honesty,  and  the  Chevalier  could  not  bring 
down  his  stomach  to  borrow  a  second  time  from  his 
outlawed  friend.  Besides,  he  could  get  on.  Clavering 
had  promised  him  some  :  not  that  Clavering's  promises 
were  much  to  be  believed,  but  the  Chevalier  was  of  a 
hopeful  turn,  and  trusted  in  many  chances  of  catching 
his  patron,  and  waylaying  some  of  those  stray  remit- 
tances and  supplies,  in  the  procuring  of  which  for  his 
principal  lay  Mr.  Strong's  chief  business. 

He  had  grumbled  about  Altamont' s  companionship 
in  the  Shepherd's  Inn  chambers ;  but  he  found  those 


156 


PENDENNIS. 


lodgings  more  glum  now  without  his  partner  than 
with  him.  The  solitary  life  was  not  agreeable  to  his 
social  soul;  and  he  had  got  into  extravagant  and 
luxurious  habits,  too,  having  a  servant  at  his  com- 
mand to  run  his  errands,  to  arrange  his  toilettes,  and 
to  cook  his  meal.  It  was  rather  a  grand  and  touching 
sight  now  to  see  the  portly  and  handsome  gentleman 
painting  his  own  boots,  and  broiling  his  own  mutton- 
chop.  It  has  been  before  stated  that  the  Chevalier 
had  a  wife,  a  Spanish  lady  of  Vittoria,  who  had  gone 
back  to  her  friends,  after  a  few  months'  union  with 
the  Captain,  whose  head  she  broke  with  a  dish.  He 
began  to  think  whether  he  should  not  go  back  and  see 
his  Juanita.  The  Chevalier  was  growing  melancholy 
after  the  departure  of  his  friend  the  Colonel ;  or,  to 
use  his  own  picturesque  expression,  was  "  down  on  his 
luck."  These  moments  of  depression  and  intervals  of 
ill-fortune  occur  constantly  in  the  lives  of  heroes. 
Marius  at  Minturnae,  Charles  Edward  in  the  High- 
lands, Napoleon  before  Elba :  —  what  great  man  has 
not  been  called  upon  to  face  evil  fortune  ? 

From  Clavering  no  supplies  were  to  be  had  for 
some  time.  The  five-and-twenty  pounds,  or  "pony" 
which  the  exemplary  Baronet  had  received  from  Mr. 
Altamont,  had  fled  out  of  Clavering's  keeping  as 
swiftly  as  many  previous  ponies.  He  had  been  down 
the  river  with  a  choice  party  of  sporting  gents,  who 
dodged  the  police  and  landed  in  Essex,  where  they 
put  up  Billy  Bluck  to  fight  Dick  the  cabman,  whom 
the  Baronet  backed,  and  who  had  it  all  his  own  way 
for  thirteen  rounds,  when,  by  an  unlucky  blow  in  the 
windpipe,  Billy  killed  him.  "It's  always  my  luck, 
Strong,"  Sir  Francis  said ;  "  the  betting  was  three  to 
one  on  the  cabman,  and  I  thought  myself  as  sure  of 
thirty  pounds,  as  if  I  had  it  in  my  pocket.  And 


PENDENNIS. 


157 


clammy,  1  owe  my  man  Lightfoot  fourteen  pound  now 
which,  he 's  lent  and  paid  for  me  :  and  he  duns  me  — 
the  confounded  impudent  blackguard :  and  I  wish  to 
Heaven  I  knew  of  any  way  of  getting  a  bill  done,  or 
of  screwing  a  little  out  of  my  lady!  I'll  give  you 
half,  Ned,  upon  my  soul  and  honor,  I  '11  give  you  half 
if  you  can  get  anybody  to  do  us  a  little  fifty." 

But  Ned  said  sternly  that  he  had  given  his  word  of 
honor,  as  a  gentleman,  that  he  would  be  no  party  to 
any  future  bill-transactions  in  which  her  husband 
might  engage  (who  had  given  his  word  of  honor  too), 
and  the  Chevalier  said  that  he,  at  least,  would  keep 
his  word,  and  would  black  his  own  boots  all  his  life 
rather  than  break  his  promise.  And  what  is  more, 
he  vowed  he  would  advise  Lady  Clavering  that  Sir 
Francis  was  about  to  break  his  faith  towards  her, 
upon  the  very  first  hint  which  he  could  get  that  such 
was  Clavering's  intention. 

Upon  this  information  Sir  Francis  Clavering,  ac- 
cording to  his  custom,  cried  and  cursed  very  volubly. 
He  spoke  of  death  as  his  only  resource.  He  besought 
and  implored  his  dear  Strong,  his  best  friend,  his  dear 
old  Ned,  not  to  throw  him  over :  and  when  he  quitted 
his  dearest  Ned,  as  he  went  down  the  stairs  of  Shep- 
herd's Inn,  swore  and  blasphemed  at  Ned  as  the  most 
infernal  villain,  and  traitor,  and  blackguard,  and  cow- 
ard under  the  sun,  and  wished  Ned  was  in  his  grave, 
and  in  a  worse  place,  only  he  would  like  the  con- 
founded ruffian  to  live,  until  Frank  Clavering  had  had 
his  revenge  out  of  him. 

In  Strong's  chambers  the  Baronet  met  a  gentleman 
whose  visits  were  now,  as  it  has  been  shown,  very 
frequent  in  Shepherd's  Inn,  Mr.  Samuel  Huxter,  of 
Clavering.  That  young  fellow,  who  had  poached  the 
walnuts  in  Clavering  Park  in  his  youth,  and  had  seen 


158  PENDENNIS. 

the  Baronet  drive  through  the  street  at  home  with 
four  horses,  and  prance  up  to  church  with  powdered 
footmen,  had  an  immense  respect  for  his  Member,  and 
a  prodigious  delight  in  making  his  acquaintance.  He 
introduced  himself,  with  much  blushing  and  trepida- 
tion, as  a  Clavering  man  —  son  of  Mr.  Huxter,  of  the 
market-place  —  father  attended  Sir  Francis's  keeper, 
Coxwood,  when  his  gun  burst  and  took  off  three  fin- 
gers —  proud  to  make  Sir  Francis's  acquaintance. 
All  of  which  introduction  Sir  Francis  received  affably. 
And  honest  Huxter  talked  about  Sir  Francis  to  the 
chaps  at  Bartholomew's ;  and  told  Fanny,  in  the  lodge, 
that,  after  all,  there  was  nothing  like  a  thorough-bred 
un,  a  regular  good  old  English  gentleman,  one  of  the 
olden  time !  To  which  Fanny  replied,  that  she 
thought  Sir  Francis  was  an  ojous  creature  —  she 
did  n't  know  why  —  but  she  could  n't  abear  him  — 
she  was  sure  he  was  wicked,  and  low,  and  mean  — 
she  knew  he  was ;  and  when  Sam  to  this  replied  that 
Sir  Francis  was  very  affable,  and  had  borrowed  half 
a  sov'  of  him  quite  kindly,  Fanny  burst  into  a  laugh, 
pulled  Sam's  long  hair  (which  was  not  yet  of  irre- 
proachable cleanliness),  patted  his  chin,  and  called 
him  a  stoopid,  stoopid,  old  foolish  stoopid,  and  said 
that  Sir  Francis  was  .  always  borrering  money  of 
everybody,  and  that  Mar  had  actially  refused  him 
twice,  and  had  had  to  wait  three  months  to  get  seven 
shillings  which  he  had  borrered  of  'er. 

"  Don't  say  'er  but  her,  borrer  but  borrow,  actially 
but  actually,  Fanny,"  Mr.  Huxter  replied  —  not  to  a 
fault  in  her  argument,  but  to  grammatical  errors  in 
her  statement. 

"Well  then,  her,  and  borrow,  and  hactually  —  there 
then,  you  stoopid,"  said  the  other;  and  the  scholar 
made  such  a  pretty  face  that  the  grammar-master  was 


Mr.  Huxter  likes  to  be  called  a  Goose. 


VER 


PEXDEXXIS. 


159 


quickly  appeased,  and  would  have  willingly  given  her 
a  hundred  more  lessons  on  the  spot,  at  the  price  which 
he  took  for  that  one. 

Of  course  Mrs.  Bolton  was  by,  and  I  suppose  that 
Fanny  and  Mr.  Sam  were  on  exceedingly  familiar  and 
confidential  terms  by  this  time,  and  that  time  had 
brought  to  the  former  certain  consolations,  and  soothed 
certain  regrets,  which  are  deucedly  bitter  when  they 
occur,  but  which  are,  no  more  than  tooth-pulling,  or 
any  other  pang,  eternal. 

As  you  sit,  surrounded  by  respect  and  affection; 
happy,  honored,  and  flattered  in  your  old  age ;  your 
foibles  gently  indulged ;  your  least  words  kindly  cher- 
ished ;  your  garrulous  old  stories  received  for  the 
hundreth  time  with  dutiful  forbearance,  and  never- 
failing  hypocritical  smiles ;  the  women  of  your  house 
constant  in  their  flatteries  ;  the  young  men  hushed  and 
attentive  when  you  begin  to  speak ;  the  servants  awe- 
stricken  ;  the  tenants  cap  in  hand,  and  ready  to  act  in 
the  place  of  your  worship's  horses  when  your  honor 
takes  a  drive  —  it  has  often  struck  you,  0  thoughtful 
Dives  !  that  this  respect,  and  these  glories,  are  for  the 
main  part  transferred,  with  your  fee  simple,  to  your 
successor  —  that  the  servants  will  bow,  and  the  ten- 
ants shout,  for  your  son  as  for  you ;  that  the  butler 
will  fetch  him  the  wine  (improved  by  a  little  keeping) 
that 's  now  in  your  cellar  ;  and  that,  when  your  night 
is  come,  and  the  light  of  your  life  is  gone  down,  as 
sure  as  the  morning  rises  after  you  and  without  you, 
the  sun  of  prosperity  and  flattery  shines  on  your  heir. 
Men  come  and  bask  in  the  halo  of  consols  and  acres 
that  beams  round  about  him  :  the  reverence  is  trans- 
ferred with  the  estate  ;  of  which,  with  all  its  advan- 
tages, pleasures,  respect,  and  good-will,  he  in  turn 


160 


PENDENNIS. 


becomes  the  life-tenant.  How  long  do  you  wish  or 
expect  that  your  people  will  regret  you  ?  How  much 
time  does  a  man  devote  to  grief  before  he  begins  to 
enjoy  ?  A  great  man  must  keep  his  heir  at  his  feast 
like  a  living  memento  mori.  If  he  holds  very  much  by 
life,  the  presence  of  the  other  must  be  a  constant 
sting  and  warning.  "Make  ready  to  go,"  says  the 
successor  to  your  honor ;"Iam  waiting ;  and  I  could 
hold  it  as  well  as  you." 

What  has  this  reference  to  the  possible  reader,  to 
do  with  any  of  the  characters  of  this  history  ?  Do 
we  wish  to  apologize  for  Pen  because  he  has  got  a 
white  hat,  and  because  his  mourning  for  his  mother  is 
fainter  ?  All  the  lapse  of  years,  all  the  career  of 
fortune,  all  the  events  of  life,  however  strongly  they 
may  move  or  eagerly  excite  him,  never  can  remove 
that  sainted  image  from  his  heart,  or  banish  that 
blessed  love  from  its  sanctuary.  If  he  yields  to 
wrong,  the  dear  eyes  will  look  sadly  upon  him  when 
he  dares  to  meet  them ;  if  he  does  well,  endures  pain, 
or  conquers  temptation,  the  ever-present  love  will 
greet  him,  he  knows,  with  approval  and  pity ;  if  he 
falls,  plead  for  him ;  if  he  suffers,  cheer  him ;  —  be 
with  him  and  accompany  him  always  until  death  is 
past,  and  sorrow  and  sin  are  no  more.  Is  this  mere 
dreaming,  or,  on  the  part  of  an  idle  story-teller,  use- 
less moralizing  ?  May  not  the  man  of  the  world  take 
his  moment,  too,  to  be  grave  and  thoughtful  ?  Ask 
of  your  own  hearts  and  memories,  brother  and  sis- 
ter, if  we  do  not  live  in  the  dead ;  and  (to  speak 
reverently)  prove  God  by  love  ? 

Of  these  matters  Pen  and  Warrington  often  spoke 
in  many  a  solemn  and  friendly  converse  in  after  days  ; 
and  Pendennis's  mother  was  worshipped  in  his  mem- 
ory, and  canonized  there,  as  such  a  saint  ought  to  be. 


PENDENNIS. 


161 


Lucky  he  in  life  who  knows  a  few  such  women !  A 
kind  provision  of  Heaven  it  was  that  sent  \is  such ; 
and  gave  us  to  admire  that  touching  and  wonderful 
spectacle  of  innocence,  and  love,  and  beauty. 

But  as  it  is  certain  that  if,  in  the  course  of  these 
sentimental  conversations,  any  outer  stranger,  Major 
Pendennis  for  instance,  had  walked  into  Pen's  cham- 
bers, Arthur  and  Warrington  would  have  stopped 
their  talk,  and  chosen  another  subject,  and  discoursed 
about  the  Opera,  or  the  last  debate  in  Parliament,  or 
Miss  Jones's  marriage  with  Captain  Smith,  or  what  not 
—  so,  let  us  imagine  that  the  public  steps  in  at  this 
juncture,  and  stops  the  confidential  talk  between 
author  and  reader,  and  begs  us  to  resume  our  remarks 
about  this  world,  with  which  both  are  certainly  better 
acquainted  than  with  that  other  one  into  which  we 
have  just  been  peeping. 

On  coming  into  his  property,  Arthur  Pendennis  at 
first  comported  himself  with  a  modesty  and  equa- 
nimity which  obtained  his  friend  Warrington's  praises, 
though  Arthur's  uncle  was  a  little  inclined  to  quarrel 
with  his  nephew's  meanness  of  spirit,  for  not  assum- 
ing greater  state  and  pretensions  now  that  he  had 
entered  on  the  enjoyment  of  his  kingdom.  He  would 
have  had  Arthur  installed  in  handsome  quarters,  and 
riding  on  showy  park  hacks,  or  in  well-built  cabrio- 
lets, every  day.  "  I  am  too  absent,"  Arthur  said  with 
a  laugh,  "  to  drive  a  cab  in  London ;  the  omnibuses 
would  cut  me  in  two,  or  I  should  send  my  horse's  head 
into  the  ladies'  carriage  windows  ;  and  you  would  n't 
have  me  driven  about  by  my  servant  like  an  apothe- 
cary, uncle  ?  "  No,  Major  Pendennis  would  on  no 
account  have  his  nephew  appear  like  an  apothecary ; 
the  august  representative  of  the  house  of  Pendennis 
must  not  so  demean  himself.   And  when  Arthur,  pur- 


162 


PENDENNIS. 


suing  his  banter,  said,  "And  yet,  I  dare  say,  sir,  my 
father  was  proud  enough  when  he  first  set  up  his  gig/' 
the  old  Major  hemmed  and  ha'd,  and  his  wrinkled 
face  reddened  with  a  blush  as  he  answered,  "  You 
know  what  Bonaparte  said,  sir,  'II  faut  laver  son 
linge  sale  en  famille?  There  is  no  need,  sir,  for  you 
to  brag  that  your  father  was  a  —  a  medical  man. 
He  came  of  a  most  ancient  but  fallen  house,  and  was 
obliged  to  reconstruct  the  family  fortunes,  as  many  a 
man  of  good  family  has  done  before  him.  You  are 
like  the  fellow  in  Sterne,  sir  —  the  Marquis  who  came 
to  demand  his  sword  again.  Your  father  got  back 
yours  for  you.  You  are  a  man  of  landed  estate,  by 
Gad,  sir,  and  a  gentleman  —  never  forget  you  are 
a  gentleman." 

Then  Arthur  slyly  turned  on  his  uncle  the  argu- 
ment which  he  had  heard  the  old  gentleman  often 
use  regarding  himself. 

"  In  the  society  which  I  have  the  honor  of  frequent- 
ing through  your  introduction,  who  cares  to  ask  about 
my  paltry  means  or  my  humble  gentility,  uncle  ? " 
he  asked.  "  It  would  be  absurd  of  me  to  attempt  to 
compete  with  the  great  folks ;  and  all  that  they  can 
ask  from  us  is,  that  we  should  have  a  decent  address 
and  good  manners." 

"  But  for  all  that,  sir,  I  should  belong  to  a  better 
Club  or  two,"  the  uncle  answered :  "  I  should  give 
an  occasional  dinner,  and  select  my  society  well ;  and 
I  should  come  out  of  that  horrible  garret  in  the 
Temple,  sir."  And  so  Arthur  compromised,  by  de- 
cending  to  the  second  floor  in  Lamb  Court:  War- 
rington still  occupying  his  old  quarters,  and  the  two 
friends  being  determined  not  to  part  one  from  the 
other.  Cultivate  kindly,  reader,  those  friendships 
of  your  youth ;  it  is  only  in  that  generous  time  that 


PENDENNIS.  163 

they  are  formed.  How  different  the  intimacies  of 
after  days  are,  and  how  much  weaker  the  grasp  of 
your  own  hand  after  it  has  been  shaken  about  in 
twenty  years'  commerce  with  the  world,  and  has 
squeezed  and  dropped  a  thousand  equally  careless 
palms  !  As  you  can  seldom  fashion  your  tongue  to 
speak  a  new  language  after  twenty,  the  heart  refuses 
to  receive  friendship  pretty  soon :  it  gets  too  hard  to 
yield  to  the  impression. 

So  Pen  had  many  acquaintances,  and  being  of  a 
jovial  and  easy  turn,  got  more  daily  :  but  no  friend 
like  Warrington  ;  and  the  two  men  continued  to  live 
almost  as  much  in  common  as  the  Knights  of  the 
Temple,  riding  upon  one  horse  (for  Pen's  was  at 
Warrington's  service),  and  having  their  chambers 
and  their  servitor  in  common. 

Mr.  Warrington  had  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Pen's  friends  of  Grosvenor  Place  during  their  last 
unlucky  season  in  London,  and  had  expressed  him- 
self no  better  satisfied  with  Sir  Francis  and  Lady 
Clavering  and  her  ladyship's  daughter  than  was  the 
public  in  general.  "  The  world  is  right,"  George 
said,  "  about  those  people.  The  young  men  laugh 
and  taJk  freely  before  those  ladies,  and  about  them. 
The  girl  sees  people  whom  she  has  no  right  to  know, 
and  talks  to  men  with  whom  no  girl  should  have  an 
intimacy.  Did  you  see  those  two  reprobates  leaning 
over  Lady  Clavering's  carriage  in  the  Park  the  other 
day,  and  leering  under  Miss  Blanche's  bonnet  ?  No 
good  mother  would  let  her  daughter  know  those  men, 
or  admit  them  within  her  doors." 

"  The  Begum  is  the  most  innocent  and  good-natured 
soul  alive,"  interposed  Pen.  "  She  never  heard  any 
harm  of  Captain  Blackball,  or  read  that  trial  in  which 
Charlie  Lovelace  figures.    Do  you  suppose  that  hon* 


164 


PENDENNIS. 


est  ladies  read  and  remember  the  Chronique  Scanda- 
leuse  as  well  as  you,  you  old  grumbler  ?  " 

"Would  you  like  Laura  Bell  to  know  those  fel- 
lows ? "  Warrington  asked,  his  face  turning  rather 
red.  "Would  you  let  any  woman  you  loved  be  con- 
taminated by  their  company  ?  I  have  no  doubt  that 
the  poor  Begum  is  ignorant  of  their  histories.  It 
seems  to  me  she  is  ignorant  of  a  great  number  of 
better  things.  It  seems  to  me  that  your  honest  Be- 
gum is  not  a  lady,  Pen.  It  is  not  her  fault,  doubtless, 
that  she  has  not  had  the  education  or  learned  the  re- 
finements of  a  lady." 

"  She  is  as  moral  as  Lady  Portsea,  who  has  all  the 
world  at  her  balls,  and  as  refined  as  Mrs.  Bull,  who 
breaks  the  king's  English,  and  has  half  a  dozen  dukes 
at  her  table,"  Pen  answered,  rather  sulkily.  "Why 
should  you  and  I  be  more  squeamish  than  the  rest  of 
the  world?  Why  are  we  to  visit  the  sins  of  her 
fathers  on  this  harmless  kind  creature  ?  She  never 
did  anything  but  kindness  to  you  or  any  mortal  soul. 
As  far  as  she  knows,  she  does  her  best.  She  does 
not  set  up  to  be  more  than  she  is.  She  gives  you  the 
best  dinners  she  can  buy,  and  the  best  company  she 
can  get.  She  pays  the  debts  of  that  scamp  of  a  hus- 
band of  hers.  She  spoils  her  boy  like  the  most  virtu- 
ous mother  in  England.  Her  opinion  about  literary 
matters,  to  be  sure,  is  not  worth  much ;  and  I  dare 
say  she  never  read  a  line  of  Wordsworth,  or  heard 
of  Tennyson  in  her  life." 

"No  more  has  Mrs.  Flanagan  the  laundress," 
growled  out  Pen's  Mentor ;  "  no  more  has  Betty  the 
housemaid;  and  I  have  no  word  of  blame  against 
them.  But  a  high-souled  man  does  n't  make  friends 
of  these.  A  gentleman  does  n't  choose  these  for  his 
companions,  or  bitterly  rues  it  afterwards  if  he  do. 


PENDENNIS. 


165 


Are  you,  who  are  setting  up  to  be  a  man  of  the  world 
and  a  philosopher,  to  tell  me  that  the  aim  of  life  is 
to  guttle  three  courses  and  dine  off  silver  ?  Do  you 
dare  to  own  to  yourself  that  your  ambition  in  life  is 
good  claret,  and  that  you  '11  dine  with  any,  provided 
you  get  a  stalled  ox  to  feed  on  ?  You  call  me  a 
Cynic  —  why,  what  a  monstrous  Cynicism  it  is,  which 
you  and  the  rest  of  you  men  of  the  world  admit. 
I'd  rather  live  upon  raw  turnips  and  sleep  in  a 
hollow  tree,  or  turn  backwoodsman  or  savage,  than 
degrade  myself  to  this  civilization,  and  own  that  a 
French  cook  was  the  thing  in  life  best  worth  living 
for." 

"Because  you  like  a  raw  beef-steak  and  a  pipe 
afterwards,"  broke  out  Pen,  "you  give  yourself  airs 
of  superiority  over  people  whose  tastes  are  more 
dainty,  and  are  not  ashamed  of  the  world  they  live 
in.  Who  goes  about  professing  particular  admira- 
tion, or  esteem,  or  friendship,  or  gratitude  even,  for 
the  people  one  meets  every  day  ?  If  A.  asks  me  to 
his  house,  and  gives  me  his  best,  I  take  his  good 
things  for  what  they  are  worth  and  no  more.  I  do 
not  profess  to  pay  him  back  in  friendship,  but  in  the 
conventional  money  of  society.  When  we  part,  we  part 
without  any  grief.  When  we  meet,  we  are  tolerably 
glad  to  see  one  another.  If  I  were  only  to  live  with 
my  friends,  your  black  muzzle,  old  George,  is  the 
only  face  I  should  see." 

"You  are  your  uncle's  pupil,"  said  Warrington, 
rather  sadly ;  "  and  you  speak  like  a  worldling." 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  asked  Pendennis ;  "  why  not  ac- 
knowledge the  world  I  stand  upon,  and  submit  to  the 
conditions  of  the  society  which  we  live  in  and  live 
by  ?  I  am  older  than  you,  George,  in  spite  of  your 
grizzled  whiskers,  and  have  seen  much  more  of  the 


166 


PENDENNIS. 


world  than  you  have  in  your  garret  here,  shut  up 
with  your  books  and  your  reveries  and  your  ideas  of 
one-and-twenty.  I  say,  I  take  the  world  as  it  is,  and 
being  of  it,  will  not  be  ashamed  of  it.  If  the  time  is 
out  of  joint,  have  I  any  calling  or  strength  to  set  it 
right  ?  " 

u  Indeed,  I  don't  think  you  have  much  of  either/' 
growled  Pen's  interlocutor. 

"If  I  doubt  whether  I  am  better  than  my  neigh- 
bor," Arthur  continued,  —  "  if  I  concede  that  I  am  no 
better,  —  I  also  doubt  whether  he  is  better  than  I.  I 
see  men  who  begin  with  ideas  of  universal  reform, 
and  who,  before  their  beards  are  grown,  propound 
their  loud  plans  for  the  regeneration  of  mankind, 
give  up  their  schemes  after  a  few  years  of  bootless 
talking  and  vainglorious  attempts  to  lead  their  fel- 
lows ;  and  after  they  have  found  that  men  will  no 
longer  hear  them,  as  indeed  they  never  were  in  the 
least  worthy  to  be  heard,  sink  quietly  into  the  rank 
and  file,  —  acknowledging  their  aims  impracticable,  or 
thankful  that  they  were  never  put  into  practice.  The 
fiercest  reformers  grow  calm,  and  are  fain  to  put  up 
with  things  as  they  are :  the  loudest  Radical  orators 
become  dumb,  quiescent  placemen:  the  most  fervent 
Liberals,  when  out  of  power,  become  humdrum  Con- 
servatives, or  downright  tyrants  or  despots  in  office. 
Look  at  Thiers,  look  at  Guizot,  in  opposition  and  in 
place !  Look  at  the  Whigs  appealing  to  the  country, 
and  the  Whigs  in  power !  Would  you  say  that  the 
conduct  of  these  men  is  an  act  of  treason,  as  the  Rad- 
icals bawl,  —  who  would  give  way  in  their  turn,  were 
their  turn  ever  to  come  ?  No,  only  that  they  submit 
to  circumstances  which  are  stronger  than  they, — 
march  as  the  world  marches  towards  reform,  but  at 
the  world's  pace,  (and  the  movements  of  the  vast  body 


PENDENNIS. 


167 


of  mankind  must  needs  be  slow,)  —  forego  this  scheme 
as  impracticable,  on  account  of  opposition  —  that  as  im- 
mature, because  against  the  sense  of  the  majority,  — 
are  forced  to  calculate  drawbacks  and  difficulties,  as 
well  as  to  think  of  reforms  and  advances,  —  and 
compelled  finally  to  submit,  and  to  wait,  and  to 
compromise." 

"  The  Right  Honorable  Arthur  Pendennis  could  not 
speak  better,  or  be  more  satisfied  with  himself,  if  he 
was  First  Lord  of  the  Treasury  and  Chancellor  of  the 
Exchequer,"  Warrington  said. 

"Self-satisfied?  Why  self-satisfied?"  continued 
Pen.  "  It  seems  to  me  that  my  scepticism  is  more 
respectful  and  more  modest  than  the  revolutionary 
ardor  of  other  folks.  Many  a  patriot  of  eighteen, 
many  a  spouting-Club  orator,  would  turn  the  Bishops 
out  of  the  House  of  Lords  to-morrow,  and  throw  the 
Lords  out  after  the  Bishops,  and  throw  the  throne  into 
the  Thames  after  the  Peers  and  the  Bench.  Is  that 
man  more  modest  than  I,  who  take  these  institutions 
as  I  find  them,  and  wait  for  time  and  truth  to  develop, 
or  fortify,  or  (if  you  like)  destroy  them  ?  A  college 
tutor,  or  a  nobleman's  toady,  who  appears  one  fine 
day  as  my  right  reverend  lord,  in  a  silk  apron  and  a 
shovel-hat,  and  assumes  benedictory  airs  over  me,  is 
still  the  same  man  we  remember  at  Oxbridge,  when  he 
was  truckling  to  the  tufts,  and  bullying  the  poor 
undergraduates  in  the  lecture-room.  An  hereditary 
legislator,  who  passes  his  time  with  jockeys  and 
black-legs  and  ballet-girls,  and  who  is  called  to  rule 
over  me  and  his  other  betters  because  his  grandfather 
made  a  lucky  speculation  in  the  funds,  or  found  a  coal 
or  tin  mine  on  his  property,  or  because  his  stupid  an- 
cestor happened  to  be  in  command  of  ten  thousand 
men  as  brave  as  himself,  who  overcame  twelve  thou* 


168 


PENDENNIS. 


sand  Frenchmen,  or  fifty  thousand  Indians  —  such  a 
man,  I  say,  inspires  me  with  no  more  respect  that  the 
bitterest  democrat  can  feel  towards  him.    But,  such 
as  he  is,  he  is  a  part  of  the  old  society  to  which  we  be- 
long :  and  I  submit  to  his  lordship  with  acquiescence  ; 
and  he  takes  his  place  above  the  best  of  us  at  all  dinner- 
parties, and  there  bides  his  time.    I  don't  want  to 
chop  his  head  off  with  a  guillotine,  or  to  fling  mud  at 
him  in  the  streets.    When  they  call  such  a  man  a  dis- 
grace to  his  order ;  and  such  another,  who  is  good  and 
gentle,  refined  and  generous,  who  employs  his  great 
means  in  promoting  every  kindness  and  charity,  and 
art  and  grace  of  life,  in  the  kindest  and  most  gracious 
manner,  an  ornament  to  his  rank  —  the  question  as  to 
the  use  and  propriety  of  the  order  is  not  in  the  least 
affected  one  way  or  other.    There  it  is,  extant  among 
us,  a  part  of  our  habits,  the  creed  of  many  of  us,  the 
growth  of  centuries,  the  symbol  of  a  most  complicated 
tradition  —  there  stand  my  lord  the  bishop  and  my 
lord  the  hereditary  legislator  —  what  the  French  call 
transactions  both  of  them,  —  representing  in  their 
present  shape  mail-clad  barons  and  double-sworded 
chiefs,  (from  whom  their  lordships  the  hereditaries, 
for  the  most  part,  don't  descend,)  and  priests,  profess- 
ing to  hold  an  absolute  truth  and  a  divinely  inherited 
power,  the  which  truth  absolute  our  ancestors  burned 
at  the  stake,  and  denied  there;  the  which  divine 
transmissible  power  still  exists  in  print  —  to  be  be- 
lieved, or  not,  pretty  much  at  choice ;  and  of  these,  I 
say,  I  acquiesce  that  they  exist,  and  no  more.    If  you 
say  that  these  schemes,  devised  before  printing  was 
known,  or  steam  was  born:  when  thought  was  an 
infant,  scared  and  whipped;  and  truth  under  its 
guardians  was  gagged,  and  swathed,  and  blindfolded, 
and  not  allowed  to  lift  its  voice,  or  to  look  out,  or  to 


PENDENNIS. 


169 


walk  under  the  sun;  before  men  were  permitted  to 
meet,  or  to  trade,  or  to  speak  with  each  other  —  if 
any  one  says  (as  some  faithful  souls  do)  that  these 
schemes  are  for  ever,  and  having  been  changed  and 
modified  constantly  are  to  be  subject  to  no  farther 
development  or  decay,  I  laugh,  and  let  the  man 
speak.  But  I  would  have  toleration  for  these,  as  I 
would  ask  it  for  my  own  opinions  ;  and  if  they  are  to 
die,  I  would  rather  they  had  a  decent  and  natural 
than  an  abrupt  and  violent  death." 

"  You  would  have  sacrificed  to  Jove,"  Warrington 
said,  "had  you  lived  in  the  time  of  the  Christian 
persecutions." 

"Perhaps  1  would,"  said  Pen,  with  some  sadness. 
"  Perhaps  I  am  a  coward,  —  perhaps  my  faith  is  un- 
steady; but  this  is  my  own  reserve.  What  I  argue 
here  is,  that  I  will  not  persecute.  Make  a  faith  or  a 
dogma  absolute,  and  persecution  becomes  a  logical 
consequence;  and  Dominic  burns  a  Jew,  or  Calvin  an 
Arian,  or  Nero  a  Christian,  or  Elizabeth  or  Mary  a 
Papist  or  Protestant ;  or  their  father  both  or  either, 
according  to  his  humor;  and  acting  without  any 
pangs  of  remorse,  —  but  on  the  contrary,  with  strict 
notions  of  duty  fulfilled.  Make  dogma  absolute,  and 
to  inflict  or  to  suffer  death  becomes  easy  and  neces- 
sary ;  and  Mahomet's  soldiers  shouting  '  Paradise  ! 
Paradise ! '  and  dying  on  the  Christian  spears,  are  not 
more  or  less  praiseworthy  than  the  same  men  slaugh- 
tering a  town  full  of  Jews,  or  cutting  off  the  heads  of 
all  prisoners  who  would  not  acknowledge  that  there 
was  but  one  prophet  of  God." 

"  A  little  while  since,  young  one,"  Warrington  said, 
who  had  been  listening  to  his  friend's  confessions 
neither  without  sympathy  nor  scorn,  for  his  mood  led 
him  to  indulge  in  both,  "you  asked  me  why  I  re- 


170 


PENDENNIS. 


mained  out  of  the  strife  of  the  world,  and  looked  on 
at  the  great  labor  of  my  neighbor  without  taking  any 
part  in  the  struggle  ?  Why,  what  a  mere  dilettante 
you  own  yourself  to  be,  in  this  confession  of  general 
scepticism,  and  what  a  listless  spectator  yourself ! 
You  are  six-and-twenty  years  old,  and  as  blase  as  a 
rake  of  sixty.  You  neither  hope  much,  nor  care 
much,  nor  believe  much.  You  doubt  about  other  men 
as  much  as  about  yourself.  Were  it  made  of  such 
pococuranti  as  you,  the  world  would  be  intolerable; 
and  I  had  rather  live  in  a  wilderness  of  monkeys,  and 
listen  to  their  chatter,  than  in  a  company  of  men 
who  denied  everything." 

"Were  the  world  composed  of  Saint  Bernards  or 
Saint  Dominies,  it  would  be  equally  odious,"  said  Pen, 
« and  at  the  end  of  a  few  score  years  would  cease  to 
exist  altogether.  Would  you  have  every  man  with 
his  head  shaved,  and  every  woman  in  a  cloister, — 
carrying  out  to  the  full  the  ascetic  principle  ? 
Would  you  have  conventicle  hymns  twanging  from 
every  lane  in  every  city  in  the  world  ?  Would  you 
have  all  the  birds  of  the  forest  sing  one  note  and  fly 
with  one  feather  ?  You  call  me  a  sceptic  because  I 
acknowledge  what  is  ;  and  in  acknowledging  that,  be 
it  linnet  or  lark,  or  priest  or  parson ;  be  it,  I  mean, 
any  single  one  of  the  infinite  varieties  of  the  creatures 
of  God  (whose  very  name  I  would  be  understood  to 
pronounce  with  reverence,  and  never  to  approach  but 
with  distant  awe),  I  say  that  the  study  and  acknowl- 
edgment of  that  variety  amongst  men  especially 
increases  our  respect  and  wonder  for  the  Creator,  Com- 
mander, and  Ordainer  of  all  these  minds,  so  different 
and  yet  so  united,  —  meeting  in  a  common  adoration, 
and  offering  up,  each  according  to  his  degree  and 
means  of  approaching  the  JDivine  centre,  his  acknowl- 


PEXDENNIS. 


171 


edgment  of  praise  and  worship,  each  singing  (to  recur 
to  the  bird  simile)  his  natural  song." 

"And  so,  Arthur,  the  hymn  of  a  saint,  or  the  ode 
of  a  poet,  or  the  chant  of  a  Newgate  thief,  are  all 
pretty  much  the  same  in  your  philosophy,"  said 
George. 

"  Even  that  sneer  could  be  answered  were  it  to  the 
point,"  Pendennis  replied  ;  "  but  it  is  not ;  and  it  could 
be  replied  to  you,  that  even  to  the  wretched  outcry  of 
the  thief  on  the  tree,  the  wisest  and  the  best  of  all 
teachers  we  know  of,  the  untiring  Comforter  and 
Consoler,  promised  a  pitiful  hearing  and  a  certain 
hope.  Hymns  of  saints  !  Odes  of  poets  !  who  are  we 
to  measure  the  chances  and  opportunities,  the  means 
of  doing,  or  even  judging,  right  and  wrong,  awarded 
to  men ;  and  to  establish  the  rule  for  meting  out  their 
punishments  and  rewards  ?  We  are  as  insolent  and 
unthinking  in  judging  of  men's  morals  as  of  their 
intellects.  We  admire  this  man  as  being  a  great 
philosopher,  and  set  down  the  other  as  a  dullard,  not 
knowing  either,  or  the  amount  of  truth  in  either, 
or  being  certain  of  the  truth  anywhere.  We  sing  Te 
Deum  for  this  hero  who  has  won  a  battle,  and  De 
Profundis  for  that  other  one  who  has  broken  out  of 
prison,  and  has  been  caught  afterwards  by  the  police- 
men. Our  measure  of  rewards  and  punishments  is 
most  partial  and  incomplete,  absurdly  inadequate, 
utterly  worldly,  and  we  wish  to  continue  it  into  the 
next  world.  Into  that  next  and  awful  world  we  strive 
to  pursue  men,  and  send  after  them  our  impotent 
party  verdicts  of  condemnation  or  acquittal.  We  set 
up  our  paltry  little  rods  to  measure  Heaven  immeasur- 
able, as  if,  in  comparison  to  that,  Newton's  mind,  or 
Pascal's  or  Shakspeare's,  was  any  loftier  than  mine  ; 
as  if  the  ray  which  travels  from  the  sun  would  reach 


172 


PENDENNIS. 


me  sooner  than  the  man  who  blacks  my  boots. 
Measured  by  that  altitude,  the  tallest  and  the  small- 
est among  us  are  so  alike  diminutive  and  pitifully 
base,  that  I  say  we  should  take  no  count  of  the 
calculation,  and  it  is  a  meanness  to  reckon  the 
difference." 

"  Your  figure  fails  there,  Arthur,"  said  the  other, 
better  pleased ;  if  even  by  common  arithmetic  we  can 
multiply  as  we  can  reduce  almost  infinitely,  the  Great 
Reckoner  must  take  count  of  all ;  and  the  small  is  not 
small,  or  the  great  great,  to  his  infinity." 

"  I  don't  call  those  calculations  in  question,"  Arthur 
said ;  "  I  only  say  that  yours  are  incomplete  and 
premature ;  false  in  consequence,  and,  by  every  opera- 
tion, multiplying  into  wider  error.  I  do  not  condemn 
the  men  who  killed  Socrates  and  damned  Galileo.  I 
say  that  they  damned  Galileo  and  killed  Socrates." 

"And  yet  but  a  moment  since  you  admitted  the 
propriety  of  acquiescence  in  the  present,  and,  I  sup- 
pose, all  other  tyrannies  ?  " 

"  No  :  but  that  if  an  opponent  menaces  me,  of  whom 
and  without  cost  of  blood  and  violence  I  can  get  rid, 
I  would  rather  wait  him  out,  and  starve  him  out,  than 
fight  him  out.  Fabius  fought  Hannibal  sceptically. 
Who  was  his  Roman  coadjutor,  whom  we  read  of  in 
Plutarch  when  we  were  boys,  who  scoffed  at  the 
other's  procrastination  and  doubted  his  courage  and 
engaged  the  enemy  and  was  beaten  for  his  pains  ?  " 

In  these  speculations  and  confessions  of  Arthur,  the 
reader  may  perhaps  see  allusions  to  questions  which, 
no  doubt,  have  occupied  and  discomposed  himself,  and 
which  he  may  have  answered  by  very  different  solutions 
to  those  come  to  by  our  friend.  We  are  not  pledging 
ourselves  for  the  correctness  of  his  opinions,  which 


PENDENNIS. 


173 


readers  will  please  to  consider  are  delivered  dramati- 
cally, the  writer  being  no  more  answerable  for  them 
than  for  the  sentiments  nttered  by  any  other  character 
of  the  story  :  our  endeavor  is  merely  to  follow  out,  in 
its  progress,  the  development  of  the  mind  of  a  worldly 
and  selfish,  but  not  ungenerous  or  unkind  or  truth- 
avoiding  man.  And  it  will  be  seen  that  the  lament- 
able stage  to  which  his  logic  at  present  has  brought 
him,  is  one  of  general  scepticism  and  sneering  ac- 
quiescence in  the  world  as  it  is  ;  or  if  you  like  so  to 
call  it,  a  belief  qualified  with  scorn  in  all  things 
extant.  The  tastes  and  habits  of  such  a  man  prevent 
him  from  being  a  boisterous  demagogue,  and  his  love 
of  truth  and  dislike  of  cant  keep  him  from  advancing 
crude  propositions,  such  as  many  loud  reformers  are 
constantly  ready  with ;  much  more  of  uttering  down- 
right falsehoods  in  arguing  questions  or  abusing 
opponents,  which  he  would  die  or  starve  rather  than 
use.  It  was  not  in  our  friend's  nature  to  be  able  to 
utter  certain  lies ;  nor  was  he  strong  enough  to  pro- 
test against  others,  except  with  a  polite  sneer ;  his 
maxim  being,  that  he  owed  obedience  to  all  Acts  of 
Parliament,  as  long  as  they  were  not  repealed. 

And  to  what  does  this  easy  and  sceptical  life  lead  a 
man  ?  Friend  Arthur  was  a  Sadducee,  and  the 
Baptist  might  be  in  the  Wilderness  shouting  to  the 
poor,  who  were  listening  with  all  their  might  and 
faith  to  the  preacher's  awful  accents  and  denunci- 
ations of  wrath  or  woe  or  salvation  ;  and  our  friend 
the  Sadducee  would  turn  his  sleek  mule  with  a  shrug 
and  a  smile  from  the  crowd,  and  go  home  to  the  shade 
of  his  terrace,  and  muse  over  preacher  and  audience, 
and  turn  to  his  roll  of  Plato,  or  his  pleasant  Greek 
song-book  babbling  of  honey  and  Hybla,  and  nymphs 
and  fountains  and  love.    To  what,  we  say,  does  this 


174 


PEXDENNIS. 


scepticism  lead  ?  It  leads  a  man  to  a  shameful 
loneliness  and  selfishness,  so  to  speak  —  the  more 
shameful,  because  it  is  so  good-humored  and  con- 
scienceless and  serene.  Conscience  !  What  is  con- 
science ?  Why  accept  remorse  ?  What  is  public  or 
private  faith  ?  Mythuses  alike  enveloped  in  enormous 
tradition.  If  seeing  and  acknowledging  the  lies  of  the 
world,  Arthur,  as  see  them  you  can  with  only  too 
fatal  a  clearness,  you  submit  to  them  without  any 
protest  farther  than  a  laugh :  if,  plunged  yourself  in 
easy  sensuality,  you  allow  the  whole  wretched  world 
to  pass  groaning  by  you  unmoved  :  if  the  fight  for  the 
truth  is  taking  place,  and  all  men  of  honor  are  on  the 
ground  armed  on  the  one  side  or  the  other,  and  you 
alone  are  to  lie  on  your  balcony  and  smoke  your  pipe 
out  of  the  noise  and  the  danger,  you  had  better  have 
died,  or  never  have  been  at  all,  than  such  a  sensual 
coward. 

"  The  truth,  friend ! n  Arthur  said,  imperturbably  ; 
"where  is  the  truth?  Show  it  me.  That  is  the 
question  between  us.  I  see  it  on  both  sides.  I  see  it 
on  the  Conservative  side  of  the  House,  and  amongst 
the  Eadicals,  and  even  on  the  ministerial  benches.  I 
see  it  in  this  man  who  worships  by  Act  of  Parlia- 
ment, and  is  rewarded  with  a  silk  apron  and  five  thou- 
sand a-year ;  in  that  man,  who,  driven  fatally  by  the 
remorseless  logic  of  his  creed,  gives  up  everything, 
friends,  fame,  dearest  ties,  closest  vanities,  the  respect 
of  an  army  of  churchmen,  the  recognized  position  of  a 
leader,  and  passes  over,  truth-impelled,  to  the  enemy, 
in  whose  ranks  he  is  ready  to  serve  henceforth  as  a 
nameless  private  soldier :  —  I  see  the  truth  in  that 
man,  as  I  do  in  his  brother,  whose  logic  drives  him  to 
quite  a  different  conclusion,  and  who,  after  having 
X>assed  a  life  in  vain  endeavors  to  reconcile  an  irrec- 


PENDENNIS. 


175 


oncilable  hook,  flings  it  at  last  down  in  despair,  and  de- 
clares, with  tearful  eyes,  and  hands  up  to  heaven,  his 
revolt  and  recantation.  If  the  truth  is  with  all  these 
why  should  I  take  side  with  any  one  of  them  ?  Some 
are  called  upon  to  preach :  let  them  preach.  Of  these 
preachers  there  are  somewhat  too  many,  methinks,  who 
fancy  they  have  the  gift.  But  we  cannot  all  be  par- 
sons in  church,  that  is  clear.  Some  must  sit  silent  and 
listen,  or  go  to  sleep  mayhap.  Have  we  not  all  our 
duties  ?  The  head  charity-boy  blows  the  bellows  ;  the 
master  canes  the  other  boys  in  the  organ-loft ;  the  clerk 
sings  out  Amen  from  the  desk  ;  and  the  beadle  with  the 
staff  opens  the  door  for  his  Reverence,  who  rustles  in 
silk  up  to  the  cushion.  I  won't  cane  the  boys,  nay,  or 
say  Amen  always,  or  act  as  the  church's  champion  or 
warrior,  in  the  shape  of  the  beadle  with  the  staff  ;  but  I 
will  take  off  my  nat  in  the  place,  and  say  my  prayers 
there  too,  and  shake  hands  with  the  clergyman  as  he 
steps  on  the  grass  outside.  Don't  I  know  that  his 
being  there  is  a  compromise,  and  that  he  stands  before 
me  an  Act  of  Parliament  ?  That  the  church  he  occu- 
pies was  built  for  other  worship  ?  That  the  Metho- 
dist chapel  is  next  door ;  and  that  Bunyan  the  tinker 
is  bawling  out  the  tidings  of  damnation  on  the  com- 
mon hard  by  ?  Yes,  I  am  a  Sadducee ;  and  I  take 
things  as  1  find  them,  and  the  world,  and  the  Acts  of 
Parliament  of  the  world,  as  they  are ;  and  as  I  intend 
to  take  a  wife,  if  I  find  one  —  not  to  be  madly  in  love 
and  prostrate  at  her  feet  like  a  fool  —  not  to  worship 
her  as  an  angel,  or  to  expect  to  find  her  as  such  —  but 
to  be  good-natured  to  her,  and  courteous,  expecting 
good-nature  and  pleasant  society  from  her  in  turn. 
And  so,  George,  if  ever  you  hear  of  my  marrying,  de- 
pend on  it,  it  won't  be  a  romantic  attachment  on  my 
side :  and  if  you  hear  of  any  good  place  under  Gov* 


176 


PENDENNIS. 


ernment,  I  have  no  particular  scruples  that  I  know 
of,  which  would  prevent  me  from  accepting  your 
offer." 

"  O  Pen,  you  scoundrel !  I  know  what  you  mean," 
here  Warrington  broke  out.  "  This  is  the  meaning 
of  your  scepticism,  of  your  quietism,  of  your  atheism, 
my  poor  fellow.  You  're  going  to  sell  yourself,  and 
Heaven  help  you !  You  are  going  to  make  a  bargain 
which  will  degrade  you  and  make  you  miserable  for 
life,  and  there's  no  use  talking  of  it.  If  you  are 
once  bent  on  it  the  devil  won't  prevent  you." 

"On  the  contrary,  he's  on  my  side,  isn't  he, 
George  ? "  said  Pen  with  a  laugh.  "  What  good 
cigars  these  are  !  Come  down  and  have  a  little  din- 
ner at  the  Club ;  the  chef 's  in  town,  and  he  '11  cook  a 
good  one  for  me.  No,  you  won't  ?  Don't  be  sulky, 
old  boy,  I 'm  going  down  to  —  to  the  country 
to-morrow." 


CHAPTER  XL 


WHICH  ACCOUNTS  PERHAPS  FOR  CHAPTER  X. 

The  information  regarding  the  affairs  of  the  Clav- 
ering  family,  which  Major  Pendennis  had  acquired 
through  Strong,  and  by  his  own  personal  interference 
as  the  friend  of  the  house,  was  such  as  almost  made 
the  old  gentleman  pause  in  any  plans  which  he  might 
have  once  entertained  for  his  nephew's  benefit.  To 
bestow  upon  Arthur  a  wife  with  two  such  fathers-in- 
law,  as  the  two  worthies  whom  the  guileless  and  un- 
fortunate Lady  Clavering  had  drawn  in  her  marriage 
ventures,  was  to  benefit  no  man.  And  though  the 
one,  in  a  manner,  neutralized  the  other,  and  the  ap- 
pearance of  Amory  or  Altamont  in  public  would  be 
the  signal  for  his  instantaneous  withdrawal  and  con- 
dign punishment,  —  for  the  fugitive  convict  had  cut 
down  the  officer  in  charge  of  him,  and  a  rope  would 
be  inevitably  his  end,  if  he  came  again  under  British 
authorities ;  yet  no  guardian  would  like  to  secure  for 
his  ward  a  wife  whose  parent  was  to  be  got  rid  of  in 
such  a  way ;  and  the  old  gentleman's  notion  always 
had  been  that  Altamont,  with  the  gallows  before  his 
eyes,  would  assuredly  avoid  recognition ;  while,  at  the 
same  time,  by  holding  the  threat  of  his  discovery  over 
Clavering,  the  latter,  who  would  lose  everything  by 
Amory's  appearance,  would  be  a  slave  in  the  hands  of 
the  person  who  knew  so  fatal  a  secret. 

But  if  the  Begum  paid  Clavering's  debts  many 
times  more,  her  wealth  would  be  expended  altogether 


178 


PENDENNIS. 


upon  this  irreclaimable  reprobate ;  and  her  heirs, 
whoever  they  might  be,  would  succeed  but  to  an 
emptied  treasury ;  and  Miss  Amory,  instead  of  bring- 
ing her  husband  a  good  income  and  a  seat  in  Parlia- 
ment, would  bring  to  that  individual  her  person  only, 
and  her  pedigree  with  that  lamentable  note  of  sus. 
per  coll.  at  the  name  of  the  last  male  of  her  line. 

There  was,  however,  to  the  old  schemer  revolving 
these  things  in  his  mind,  another  course  yet  open ; 
the  which  will  appear  to  the  reader  who  may  take 
the  trouble  to  peruse  a  conversation,  which  presently 
ensued,  between  Major  Pendennis  and  the  honorable 
Baronet  the  member  for  Clavering. 

When  a  man,  under  pecuniary  difficulties,  disap- 
pears from  among  his  usual  friends  and  equals, — 
dives  out  of  sight,  as  it  were,  from  the  flock  of  birds 
in  which  he  is  accustomed  to  sail,  it  is  wonderful  at 
what  strange  and  distant  nooks  he  comes  up  again  for 
breath.  I  have  known  a  Pall  Mall  lounger  and  Rotten 
Row  buck,  of  no  inconsiderable  fashion,  vanish  from 
amongst  his  comrades  of  the  Clubs  and  the  Park,  and 
be  discovered,  very  happy  and  affable,  at  an  eighteen- 
penny  ordinary  in  Billingsgate :  another  gentleman, 
of  great  learning  and  wit,  when  out-running  the  con- 
stable (were  I  to  say  he  was  a  literary  man,  some 
critics  would  vow  that  I  intended  to  insult  the  literary 
profession),  once  sent  me  his  address  at  a  little  public- 
house  called  the  "  Fox  under  the  Hill,"  down  a  most 
darksome  and  cavernous  archway  in  the  Strand.  Such 
a  man,  under  such  misfortunes,  may  have  a  house, 
but  he  is  never  in  his  house ;  and  has  an  address 
where  letters  may  be  left;  but  only  simpletons  go 
with  the  hopes  of  seeing  him.  Only  a  few  of  the 
faithful  know  where  he  is  to  be  found,  and  have  the 
clew  to  his  hiding-place.    So,  after  the  disputes  with 


PENDENNIS. 


179 


his  wife,  and  the  misfortunes  consequent  thereon,  to 
find  Sir  Francis  Clavering  at  home  was  impossible. 
"  Ever  since  I  hast  him  for  my  book,  which  is  four- 
teen pound,  he  don't  come  home  till  three  o'clock,  and 
purtends  to  be  asleep  when  I  bring  his  water  of  a 
mornin',  and  dodges  hout  when  I  'in  down  stairs,"  Mr. 
Lightfoot  remarked  to  his  friend  Morgan;  and  an- 
nounced that  he  should  go  down  to  my  Lady,  and  be 
butler  there,  and  marry  his  old  woman.  In  like  man- 
ner, after  his  altercations  with  Strong,  the  Baronet 
did  not  come  near  him,  and  fled  to  other  haunts,  out 
of  the  reach  of  the  Chevalier's  reproaches  ;  —  out  of 
the  reach  of  conscience,  if  possible,  which  many  of  us 
try  to  dodge  and  leave  behind  us  by  changes  of  scene 
and  other  fugitive  stratagems. 

So,  though  the  elder  Pendennis,  having  his  own 
ulterior  object,  was  bent  upon  seeing  Pen's  country 
neighbor  and  representative  in  Parliament,  it  took  the 
Major  no  inconsiderable  trouble  and  time  before  he 
could  get  him  into  such  a  confidential  state  and  con- 
versation, as  were  necessary  for  the  ends  which  the 
Major  had  in  view.  For  since  the  Major  had  been 
called  in  as  family  friend,  and  had  cognizance  of 
Clavering's  affairs,  conjugal  and  pecuniary,  the  Baro- 
net avoided  him  :  as  he  always  avoided  all  his  lawyers, 
and  agents,  when  there  was  an  account  to  be  rendered, 
or  an  affair  of  business  to  be  discussed  between  them ; 
and  never  kept  any  appointment  but  when  its  object 
was  the  raising  of  money.  Thus,  previous  to  catching 
this  most  shy  and  timorous  bird,  the  Major  made  more 
than  one  futile  attempt  to  hold  him  ;  —  on  one  day  it 
was  a  most  innocent-looking  invitation  to  dinner  at 
Greenwich,  to  meet  a  few  friends  ;  the  Baronet  ac- 
cepted, suspected  something,  and  did  not  come ;  leav- 
ing the  Major  (who  indeed  proposed  to  represent  in 


180 


PENDENNIS. 


himself  the  body  of  friends)  to  eat  his  whitebait  alone : 
—  on  another  occasion  the  Major  wrote  and  asked  for 
ten  minutes'  talk,  and  the  Baronet  instantly  acknowl- 
edged the  note,  and  made  the  appointment  at  four 
o'clock  the  next  day  at  Bays's  precisely  (he  carefully 
underlined  the  "  precisely  ")  ;  but  though  four  o'clock 
came,  as  in  the  course  of  time  and  destiny  it  could 
not  do  otherwise,  no  Clavering  made  his  appearance. 
Indeed,  if  he  had  borrowed  twenty  pounds  of  Pen- 
dennis,  he  could  not  have  been  more  timid,  or  desirous 
of  avoiding  the  Major ;  and  the  latter  found  that  it 
was  one  thing  to  seek  a  man,  and  another  to  find  him. 

Before  the  close  of  that  day  in  which  Strong's 
patron  had  given  the  Chevalier  the  benefit  of  so 
many  blessings  before  his  face  and  curses  behind  his 
back,  Sir  Francis  Clavering,  who  had  pledged  his 
word  and  his  oath  to  his  wife's  advisers  to  draw  or 
accept  no  more  bills  of  exchange,  and  to  be  content 
with  the  allowance  which  his  victimized  wife  still 
awarded  him,  had  managed  to  sign  his  respectable 
name  to  a  piece  of  stamped  paper,  which  the  Baronet's 
friend,  Mr.  Moss  Abrams,  had  carried  off,  promising 
to  have  the  bill  "  done  "  by  a  party  with  whose  inti- 
macy Mr.  Abrams  was  favored.  And  it  chanced  that 
Strong  heard  of  this  transaction  at  the  place  where 
the  writings  had  been  drawn,  —  in  the  back  parlor, 
namely,  of  Mr.  Santiago's  cigar-shop,  where  the  Chev- 
alier was  constantly  in  the  habit  of  spending  an  hour 
in  the  evening. 

"  He  is  at  his  old  work  again,"  Mr.  Santiago  told 
his  customer.  "  He  and  Moss  Abrams  were  in  my 
parlor.  Moss  sent  out  my  boy  for  a  stamp.  It  must 
have  been  a  bill  for  fifty  pound.  I  heard  the  Baronet 
tell  Moss  to  date  it  two  months  back.  He  will  pre- 
tend that  it  is  an  old  bill,  and  that  he  forgot  it  when 


PENDENNIS. 


181 


he  came  to  a  settlement  with  his  wife  the  other  day. 
I  dare  say  they  will  give  him  some  more  money  now 
he  is  clear."  A  man  who  has  the  habit  of  putting  his 
unlucky  name  to  "  promises  to  pay "  at  six  months, 
has  the  satisfaction  of  knowing,  too,  that  his  affairs 
are  known  and  canvassed,  and  his  signature  handed 
round,  among  the  very  worst  knaves  and  rogues  of 
London. 

Mr.  Santiago's  shop  was  close  by  St.  James's  Street 
and  Bury  Street,  where  we  have  had  the  honor  of 
visiting  our  friend  Major  Pendennis  in  his  lodgings. 
The  Major  was  walking  daintily  towards  his  apart- 
ment, as  Strong,  burning  with  wrath  and  redolent  of 
Havana,  strode  along  the  same  pavement  opposite 
to  him. 

"Confound  these  young  men:  how  they  poison 
everything  with  their  smoke,"  thought  the  Major. 
"Here  comes  a  fellow  with  mustachios  and  a  cigar. 
Every  fellow  who  smokes  and  wears  mustachios  is  a 
low  fellow.  Oh  !  it 's  Mr.  Strong.  —  I  hope  you  are 
well,  Mr.  Strong  ?"  and  the  old  gentleman,  making  a 
dignified  bow  to  the  Chevalier,  was  about  to  pass  into 
his  house  ;  directing  towards  the  lock  of  the  door, 
with  trembling  hand,  the  polished  door-key. 

We  have  said,  that,  at  the  long  and  weary  disputes 
and  conferences  regarding  the  payment  of  Sir  Fran- 
cis Clavering's  last  debts,  Strong  and  Pendennis  had 
both  been  present  as  friends  and  advisers  of  the 
Baronet's  unlucky  family.  Strong  stopped  and  held 
out  his  hand  to  his  brother  negotiator,  and  old  Pen- 
dennis put  out  towards  him  a  couple  of  ungracious 
fingers. 

"  What  is  your  good  news  ?  "  said  Major  Pendennis, 
patronizing  the  other  still  farther,  and  condescending 
to  address  to  him  an  observation,  for  old  Pendennis 


182 


PENDENNIS. 


had  kept  such  good  company  all  his  life  that  he 
vaguely  imagined  he  honored  common  men  by  speak- 
ing to  them.  "  Still  in  town,  Mr.  Strong  ?  I  hope  I 
see  you  well." 

"  My  news  is  bad  news,  sir/'  Strong  answered  ;  "  it 
concerns  our  friends  at  Tunbridge  Wells,  and  I  should 
like  to  talk  to  you  about  it.  Clavering  is  at  his  old 
tricks  again,  Major  Pendennis." 

"  Indeed  !  Pray  do  me  the  favor  to  come  into  my 
lodging,"  cried  the  Major  with  awakened  interest; 
and  the  pair  entered  and  took  possession  of  his  draw- 
ing-room. Here  seated,  Strong  unburdened  himself 
of  his  indignation  to  the  Major,  and  spoke  at  large  of 
Clavering's  recklessness  and  treachery.  "No  prom- 
ises will  bind  him,  sir,"  he  said.  "  You  remember 
when  we  met,  sir,  with  my  lady's  lawyer,  how  he 
wouldn't  be  satisfied  with  giving  his  honor,  but  wanted 
to  take  his  oath  on  his  knees  to  his  wife,  and  rang 
the  bell  for  a  Bible,  and  swore  perdition  on  his  soul 
if  he  ever  would  give  another  bill.  He  has  been 
signing  one  this  very  day,  sir :  and  will  sign  as 
many  more  as  you  please  for  ready  money :  he  will 
deceive  anybody,  his  wife  or  his  child,  or  his  old 
friend,  who  has  backed  him  a  hundred  times.  Why, 
there 's  a  bill  of  his  and  mine  will  be  due  next 
week  —  " 

"  I  thought  we  had  paid  all  —  " 

"Not  that  one,"  Strong  said,  blushing.  "  He  asked 
me  not  to  mention  it,  and  —  and  —  I  had  half  the 
money  for  that,  Major.  And  they  will  be  down  on 
me.  But  I  don't  care  for  it:  I'm  used  to  it.  It's 
Lady  Clavering  that  riles  me.  It's  a  shame  that 
that  good-natured  woman,  who  has  paid  him  out  of 
jail  a  score  of  times,  should  be  ruined  by  his  heart- 
lessless.    A  parcel  of  bill-stealers,  boxers,  any  ras- 


PENDENNIS. 


183 


cals,  get  his  money ;  and  lie  don't  scruple  to  throw 
an  honest  fellow  over.  Would  you  believe  it,  sir, 
he  took  money  of  Altamont  —  you  know  whom  I 
mean  ?  " 

"  Indeed  ?  of  that  singular  man,  who  I  think  came 
tipsy  once  to  Sir  Francis's  house  ?  "  Major  Pendennis 
said,  with  impenetrable  countenance.  "  Who  is  Alta- 
mont, Mr.  Strong  ? 99 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  if  you  don't  know,"  the 
Chevalier  answered,  with  a  look  of  surprise  and 
suspicion. 

"  To  tell  you  frankly,"  said  the  Major,  "I  have  my 
suspicions.  I  suppose  —  mind,  I  only  suppose  —  that 
in  our  friend  Clavering's  life  —  who,  between  you  and 
me,  Captain  Strong,  we  must  own  is  about  as  loose  a 
fish  as  any  in  my  acquaintance  —  there  are,  no  doubt, 
some  queer  secrets  and  stories  which  he  would  not 
like  to  have  known  :  none  of  us  would.  And  very 
likely  this  fellow,  who  calls  himself  Altamont,  knows 
some  story  against  Clavering,  and  has  some  hold  on 
him,  and  gets  money  out  of  him  on  the  strength  of 
his  information.  I  know  some  of  the  best  men  of  the 
best  families  in  England  who  are  paying  through  the 
nose  in  that  way.  But  their  private  affairs  are  no 
business  of  mine,  Mr.  Strong ;  and  it  is  not  to  be  sup- 
posed that  because  I  go  and  dine  with  a  man,  I  pry 
into  his  secrets,  or  am  answerable  for  all  his  past  life. 
And  so  with  our  friend  Clavering,  I  am  most  interested 
for  his  wife's  sake,  and  her  daughter's,  who  is  a  most 
charming  creature  :  and  when  her  ladyship  asked  me,  I 
looked  into  her  affairs,  and  tried  to  set  them  straight ; 
and  shall  do  so  again,  you  understand,  to  the  best  of 
my  humble  power  and  ability,  if  I  can  make  myself 
useful.  And  if  I  am  called  upon  —  you  understand, 
if  I  am  called  upon — and  —  by  the  way,  this  Mr. 


184 


PENDENNIS. 


Altamont,  Mr.  Strong  ?  How  is  this  Mr.  Altamont  ? 
I  believe  you  are  acquainted  with  hirn.  Is  he  in 
town  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  am  called  upon  to  know  where 
he  is,  Major  Pendennis,"  said  Strong,  rising  and  tak- 
ing up  his  hat  in  dudgeon,  for  the  Major's  patroniz- 
ing manner  and  impertinence  of  caution  offended  the 
honest  gentleman  not  a  little. 

Pendennis's  manner  altered  at  once  from  a  tone  of 
hauteur  to  one  of  knowing  good-humor.  "  Ah,  Cap- 
tain Strong,  you  are  cautious,  too,  I  see ;  and  quite 
right,  my  good  sir,  quite  right.  We  don't  know  what 
ears  walls  may  have,  sir,  or  to  whom  we  may  be  talk- 
ing ;  and  as  a  man  of  the  world,  and  an  old  soldier,  — 
an  old  and  distinguished  soldier,  I  have  been  told, 
Captain  Strong,  —  you  know  very  well  that  there  is 
no  use  in  throwing  away  your  fire ;  you  may  have 
your  ideas,  and  I  may  put  two  and  two  together  and 
have  mine.  But  there  are  things  which  don't  concern 
him  that  many  a  man  had  better  not  know,  eh,  Cap- 
tain ?  and  which  I,  for  one,  won't  know  until  I  have 
reason  for  knowing  them :  and  that  I  believe  is  your 
maxim  too.  With  regard  to  our  friend  the  Baronet, 
I  think  with  you,  it  would  be  most  advisable  that  he 
should  be  checked  in  his  imprudent  courses  ;  and  most 
strongly  reprehend  any  man's  departure  from  his 
word,  or  any  conduct  of  his  which  can  give  any  pain 
to  his  family,  or  cause  them  annoyance  in  any  way. 
That  is  my  full  and  frank  opinion,  and  I  am  sure  it  is 
yours." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Strong,  dryly. 

"  I  am  delighted  to  hear  it ;  delighted,  that  an  old 
brother  soldier  should  agree  with  me  so  fully.  And 
I  am  exceedingly  glad  of  the  lucky  meeting  which  has 
procured  me  the  good  fortune  of  your  visit.  Good 


PENDENNIS. 


185 


evening.  Thank  you.  Morgan,  show  the  door  to 
Captain  Strong." 

And  Strong,  preceded  by  Morgan,  took  his  leave  of 
Major  Pendennis  ;  the  Chevalier  not  a  little  puzzled 
at  the  old  fellow's  prudence  ;  and  the  valet,  to  say  the 
truth,  to  the  full  as  much  perplexed  at  his  master's 
reticence.  For  Mr.  Morgan,  in  his  capacity  of  accom- 
plished valet,  moved  here  and  there  in  a  house  as 
silent  as  a  shadow ;  and,  as  it  so  happened,  during 
the  latter  part  of  his  master's  conversation  with  his 
visitor,  had  been  standing  very  close  to  the  door,  and 
had  overheard  not  a  little  of  the  talk  between  the  two 
gentlemen,  and  a  great  deal  more  than  he  could  under- 
stand. 

"  Who  is  that  Altamont  ?  know  anything  about 
him  and  Strong  ? "  Mr.  Morgan  asked  of  Mr.  Light- 
foot,  on  the  next  convenient  occasion  when  they  met 
at  the  Club. 

"Strong's  his  man  of  business,  draws  the  Gov- 
ernor's bills,  and  indosses  'em,  and  does  his  odd  jobs 
and  that ;  and  I  suppose  Altamont 's  in  it  too,"  Mr. 
Lightfoot  replied.  "  That  kite-flying,  you  know,  Mr. 
M.,  always  takes  two  or  three  on  'em  to  set  the  paper 
going.  Altamont  put  the  pot  on  at  the  Derby,  and  won 
a  good  bit  of  money.  I  wish  the  Governor  could  get 
some  somewhere,  and  I  could  get  my  book  paid  up." 

"  Do  you  think  my  Lady  would  pay  his  debts 
again  ?  "  Morgan  asked.  "  Find  out  that  for  me, 
Lightfoot,  and  I'll  make  it  worth  your  while,  my 
boy/' 

Major  Pendennis  had  often  said  with  a  laugh,  that 
his  valet  Morgan  was  a  much  richer  man  than  himself : 
and,  indeed,  by  a  long  course  of  careful  speculation, 
this  wary  and  silent  attendant  had  been  amassing  a 


186 


PENDENNIS. 


considerable  sum  of  money,  during  the  years  which 
he  had  passed  in  the  Major's  service,  where  he  had 
made  the  acquaintance  of  many  other  valets  of  dis- 
tinction, from  whom  he  had  learned  the  affairs  of 
their  principals.  When  Mr.  Arthur  came  into  his 
property,  but  not  until  then,  Morgan  had  surprised 
the  young  gentleman  by  saying  that  he  had  a  little 
sum  of  money,  some  fifty  or  a  hundred  pound,  which 
he  wanted  to  lay  out  to  advantage ;  perhaps  the  gen- 
tlemen in  the  Temple,  knowing  about  affairs  and  busi- 
ness and  that,  could  help  a  poor  fellow  to  a  good  in- 
vestment? Morgan  would  be  very  much  obliged  to 
Mr.  Arthur,  most  grateful  and  obliged  indeed,  if  Ar- 
thur could  tell  him  of  one.  When  Arthur  laughingly 
replied,  that  he  knew  nothing  about  money  matters, 
and  knew  no  earthly  way  of  helping  Morgan,  the  lat- 
ter, with  the  utmost  simplicity,  was  very  grateful, 
very  grateful  indeed,  to  Mr.  Arthur,  and  if  Mr.  Arthur 
should  want  a  little  money  before  his  rents  was  paid, 
perhaps  he  would  kindly  remember  that  his  uncle's 
old  and  faithful  servant  had  some  as  he  would  like 
to  put  out :  and  be  most  proud  if  he  could  be  useful 
anyways  to  any  of  the  family. 

The  Prince  of  Fairoaks,  who  was  tolerably  prudent 
and  had  no  need  of  ready  money,  would  as  soon  have 
thought  of  borrowing  from  his  uncle's  servant  as  of 
stealing  the  valet's  pocket-handkerchief,  and  was  on 
the  point  of  making  some  haughty  reply  to  Morgan's 
offer,  but  was  checked  by  the  humor  of  the  transac- 
tion. Morgan  a  capitalist !  Morgan  offering  to  lend 
to  him  !  The  joke  was  excellent.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  man  might  be  quite  innocent,  and  the  proposal  of 
money  a  simple  offer  of  good-will.  So  Arthur  with- 
held the  sarcasm  that  was  rising  to  his  lips,  and 
contented  himself  by  declining  Mr.  Morgan's  kind 


PENDENNIS. 


187 


proposal.  He  mentioned  the  matter  to  his  uncle, 
however,  and  congratulated  the  latter  on  having  such 
a  treasure  in  his  service. 

It  was  then  that  the  Major  said  that  he  believed 
Morgan  had  been  getting  devilish  rich  for  a  devilish 
long  time  ;  in  fact  he  had  bought  the  house  in  Bury 
Street,  in  which  his  master  was  a  lodger ;  and  had 
actually  made  a  considerable  sum  of  money  from 
his  acquaintance  with  the  Clavering  family,  and  his 
knowledge  obtained  through  his  master  that  the 
Begum  would  pay  all  her  husband's  debts,  by  buy- 
ing up  as  many  of  the  Baronet's  acceptances  as  he 
could  raise  money  to  purchase.  Of  these  transac- 
tions the  Major,  however,  knew  no  more  than  most 
gentlemen  do  of  their  servants,  who  live  with  us  all 
our  days  and  are  strangers  to  us :  so  strong  custom 
is,  and  so  pitiless  the  distinction  between  class  and 
class. 

"  So  he  offered  to  lend  you  money,  did  he  ?  "  the 
elder  Pendennis  remarked  to  his  nephew.  "  He 's  a 
dev'lish  sly  fellow,  and  a  dev'lish  rich  fellow ;  and 
there 's  many  a  nobleman  would  like  to  have  such 
a  valet  in  his  service,  and  borrow  from  him  too.  And 
he  ain't  a  bit  changed,  Monsieur  Morgan.  He  does 
his  work  just  as  well  as  ever  —  he 's  always  ready  to 
my  bell  —  steals  about  the  room  like  a  cat  —  he 's  so 
dev'lishly  attached  to  me,  Morgan !  " 

On  the  day  of  Strong's  visit,  the  Major  bethought 
him  of  Pen's  story,  and  that  Morgan  might  help  him, 
and  rallied  the  valet  regarding  his  wealth  with  that 
free  and  insolent  way  which  so  high-placed  a  gentle- 
man might  be  disposed  to  adopt  towards  so  unfor- 
tunate a  creature. 

"  I  hear  that  you  have  got  some  money  to  invest, 
Morgan,"  said  the  Major. 


188 


PENDENNIS. 


It's  Mr.  Arthur  has  been  telling,  hang  him !  thought 
the  valet. 

"  I 'm  glad  my  place  is  such  a  good  one." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,  —  I  've  no  reason  to  complain 
of  my  place  nor  of  my  master,"  replied  Morgan, 
demurely. 

"  You  're  a  good  fellow :  and  I  believe  you  are  at- 
tached to  me ;  and  I 'm  glad  you  get  on  well.  And  I 
hope  you  '11  be  prudent,  and  not  be  taking  a  public- 
house  or  that  kind  of  thing." 

A  public-house,  thought  Morgan  —  me  in  a  public- 
house  !  —  the  old  fool !  —  Dammy,  if  I  was  ten  years 
younger  I 'd  set  in  Parlyment  before  I  died,  that  I 
would.  —  "  No,  thank  you  kindly,  sir.  I  don't  think 
of  the  public  line,  sir.  And  I 've  got  my  little  savings 
pretty  well  put  out,  sir." 

"You  do  a  little  in  the  discounting  way,  eh, 
Morgan  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  a  very  little  —  I  —  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir 
—  might  I  be  so  free  as  to  ask  a  question  ?  " 

"Speak  on,  my  good  fellow,"  the  elder  said, 
graciously. 

"  About  Sir  Francis  Clavering's  paper,  sir  ?  Do  you 
think  he 's  any  longer  any  good,  sir  ?  Will  my  Lady 
pay  on  'em  any  more,  sir  ?  " 

"What,  you've  done  something  in  that  business 
already  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  a  little,"  replied  Morgan,  dropping  down 
his  eyes.  "And  I  don't  mind  owning,  sir,  and  I  hope 
I  may  take  the  liberty  of  saying,  sir,  that  a  little  more 
would  make  me  very  comfortable  if  it  turned  out  as 
well  as  the  last." 

"  Why,  how  much  have  you  netted  by  him,  in  Gad's 
name  ?  "  asked  the  Major. 

"  I 've  done  a  good  bit,  sir,  at  it :  that  I  own,  sir. 


PENDENNIS. 


189 


Having  some  information,  and  made  acquaintance 
with,  the  fam'ly  through  your  kindness,  I  put  on  the 
pot,  sir." 

"  You  did  what  ?  " 

"  I  laid  my  money  on,  sir  —  I  got  all  I  could,  and 
borrowed,  and  bought  Sir  Francis's  bills ;  many  of  'em 
had  his  name,  and  the  gentleman's  as  is  just  gone  out, 
Edward  Strong,  Esquire,  sir :  and  of  course  I  know  of 
the  blow  hup  and  shindy  as  is  took  place  in  Grosvenor 
Place,  sir ;  and  as  I  may  as  well  make  my  money  as 
another,  I 'd  be  very  much  obleeged  to  you  if  you 'd 
tell  me  whether  my  Lady  will  come  down  any  more." 

Although  Major  Pendennis  was  as  much  surprised 
at  this  intelligence  regarding  his  servant,  as  if  he  had 
heard  that  Morgan  was  a  disguised  Marquis,  about  to 
throw  off  his  mask  and  assume  his  seat  in  the  House 
of  Peers ;  and  although  he  was  of  course  indignant  at 
the  audacity  of  the  fellow  who  had  dared  to  grow  rich 
under  his  nose,  and  without  his  cognizance  ;  yet  he 
had  a  natural  admiration  for  every  man  who  repre- 
sented money  and  success,  and  found  himself  respect- 
ing Morgan,  and  being  rather  afraid  of  that  worthy, 
as  the  truth  began  to  dawn  upon  him. 

"  Well,  Morgan,"  said  he,  u  I  must  n't  ask  how  rich 
you  are ;  and  the  richer  the  better  for  your  sake,  I 'm 
sure.  And  if  I  could  give  you  any  information  that 
could  serve  you,  I  would  speedily  help  you.  But 
frankly,  if  Lady  Clavering  asks  me  whether  she  shall 
pay  any  more  of  Sir  Francis's  debts  I  shall  advise 
and  hope  she  won't,  though  I  fear  she  will  —  and  that 
is  all  I  know.  And  so  you  are  aware  that  Sir 
Francis  is  beginning  again  in  his  —  eh  —  reckless 
and  imprudent  course  ?  " 

"  At  his  old  games,  sir  —  can't  prevent  that  gentle- 
man.   He  will  do  it." 


190 


PENPENNIS. 


"  Mr.  Strong  was  saying  that  a  Mr.  Moss  Abrams 
was  the  holder  of  one  of  Sir  Francis  Clavering' s 
notes.  Do  you  know  anything  of  this  Mr.  Abrams 
or  the  amount  of  the  bill  ?  " 

"  Don't  know  the  bill ;  know  Abrams  quite  well, 
sir." 

"  I  wish  you  would  find  out  about  it  for  me.  And 
I  wish  you  would  find  out  where  I  can  see  Sir  Francis 
Clavering,  Morgan." 

And  Morgan  said,  "  Thank  you,  sir  —  yes,  sir  —  I 
will,  sir ; "  and  retired  from  the  room,  as  he  had 
entered  it,  with  his  usual  stealthy  respect  and  quiet 
humility ;  leaving  the  Major  to  muse  and  wonder  over 
what  he  had  just  heard. 

The  next  morning  the  valet  informed  Major  Pen- 
dennis  that  he  had  seen  Mr.  Abrams ;  what  was  the 
amount  of  the  bill  that  gentleman  was  desirous  to 
negotiate ;  and  that  the  Baronet  would  be  sure  to  be 
in  the  back  parlor  of  the  "  Wheel  of  Fortune  "  Tavern 
that  day  at  one  o'clock. 

To  this  appointment  Sir  Francis  Clavering  was 
punctual,  and  as  at  one  o'clock  he  sat  in  the  parlor  of 
the  tavern  in  question,  surrounded  by  spittoons, 
Windsor  chairs,  cheerful  prints  of  boxers,  trotting 
horses,  and  pedestrians,  and  the  lingering  of  last 
night's  tobacco  fumes  —  as  the  descendant  of  an 
ancient  line  sat  in  this  delectable  place  accommodated 
with  an  old  copy  of  u  Bell's  Life  in  London,"  much 
blotted  with  beer,  the  polite  Major  Pendennis  walked 
into  the  apartment. 

"  So  it 's  you,  old  boy  ?  "  asked  the  Baronet,  think- 
ing that  Mr.  Moss  Abrams  had  arrived  with  the 
money. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Sir  Francis  Clavering  ?    I  wanted 


PENDENNIS. 


191 


to  see  you,  and  followed  you  here,"  said  the  Major,  at 
sight  of  whom  the  other's  countenance  fell. 

Now  that  he  had  his  opponent  before  him,  the 
Major  was  determined  to  make  a  brisk  and  sudden 
attack  upon  him,  and  went  into  action  at  once.  "  I 
know,"  he  continued,  "  who  is  the  exceedingly  disrepu- 
table person  for  whom  you  took  me,  Clavering ;  and 
the  errand  which  brought  you  here." 

"  It  ain't  your  business,  is  it  ?  "  asked  the  Baronet, 
with  a  sulky  and  deprecatory  look.  "Why  are  you 
following  me  about,  and  taking  the  command  and 
meddling  in  my  affairs,  Major  Pendennis  ?  I 've 
never  done  you  any  harm,  have  I  ?  I 've  never  had 
your  money.  And  I  don't  choose  to  be  dodged  about 
in  this  way,  and  domineered  over.  I  don't  choose  it, 
and  I  won't  have  it.  If  Lady  Clavering  has  any  pro- 
posal to  make  to  me,  let  it  be  done  in  the  regular 
way,  and  through  the  lawyers.  I 'd  rather  not  have 
you." 

"  I  am  not  come  from  Lady  Clavering,"  the  Major 
said,  "  but  of  my  own  accord,  to  try  and  remonstrate 
with  you,  Clavering,  and  see  if  you  can  be  kept  from 
ruin.  It  is  but  a  month  ago  that  you  swore  on  your 
honor,  and  wanted  to  get  a  Bible  to  strengthen  the 
oath,  that  you  would  accept  no  more  bills,  but  con- 
tent yourself  with  the  allowance  which  Lady  Claver- 
ing gives  you.  All  your  debts  were  paid  with  that 
proviso,  and  you  have  broken  it ;  this  Mr.  Abrams  has 
a  bill  of  yours  for  sixty  pounds." 

"  It 's  an  old  bill.  I  take  my  solemn  oath  it 's  an 
old  bill,"  shrieked  out  the  Baronet. 

"You  drew  it  yesterday,  and  you  dated  it  three 
months  back  purposely.  By  Gad,  Clavering,  you 
sicken  me  with  lies,  I  can't  help  telling  you  so.  I 've 
no  patience  with  you,  by  Gad.    You  cheat  everybody, 


192 


PENDENNIS. 


yourself  included.  I 've  seen  a  deal  of  the  world,  but 
I  never  met  your  equal  at  humbugging.  It's  my 
belief  you  had  rather  lie  than  not." 

"  Have  you  come  here,  you  old,  old  beast,  to  tempt 
me  to  —  to  pitch  into  you,  and  —  knock  your  old  head 
off  ?  "  said  the  Baronet,  with  a  poisonous  look  of  ha- 
tred at  the  Major. 

"  What,  sir  ?  99  shouted  out  the  old  Major,  rising  to 
his  feet  and  clasping  his  cane,  and  looking  so  fiercely, 
that  the  Baronet's  tone  instantly  changed  towards 
him. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Clavering,  piteously ;  "  I  beg  your 
pardon.  I  did  n't  mean  to  be  angry,  or  say  anything 
unkind,  only  you're  so  damned  harsh  to  me,  Major 
Pendennis.  What  is  it  you  want  of  me  ?  Why  have 
you  been  hunting  me  so  ?  Do  you  want  money  out  of 
me  too  ?  By  Jove,  you  know  I 've  not  got  a  shilling," 
—  and  so  Clavering,  according  to  his  custom,  passed 
from  a  curse  into  a  whimper. 

Major  Pendennis  saw,  from  the  other's  tone,  that 
Clavering  knew  his  secret  was  in  the  Major's 
hands. 

"  I 've  no  errand  from  anybody,  or  no  design  upon 
you,"  Pendennis  said,  "but  an  endeavor,  if  it's  not 
too  late,  to  save  you  and  your  family  from  utter  ruin, 
through  the  infernal  recklessness  of  your  courses.  I 
know  your  secret  —  " 

"  I  did  n't  know  it  when  I  married  her ;  upon  my 
oath  I  didn't  know  it  till  the  d — d  scoundrel  came 
back  and  told  me  himself ;  and  it 's  the  misery  about 
that  which  makes  me  so  reckless,  Pendennis  j  indeed 
it  is,"  the  Baronet  cried,  clasping  his  hands. 

"  I  knew  your  secret  from  the  very  first  day  when 
I  saw  Amory  come  drunk  into  your  dining-room  in 
Grosvenor  Place.    I  never  forget  faces.    I  remember 


PENDENNIS. 


193 


that  fellow  in  Sydney  a  convict,  and  lie  remembers 
me.  I  know  his  trial,  the  date  of  his  marriage,  and 
of  his  reported  death  in  the  bush.  I  could  swear  to 
him.  And  I  know  you  are  no  more  married  to  Lady 
Clavering  than  I  am.  I've  kept  your  secret  well 
enough,  for  I  've  not  told  a  single  soul  that  I  know  it, 

—  not  your  wife,  not  yourself  till  now." 

"Poor  Lady  C,  it  would  cut  her  up  dreadfully," 
whimpered  Sir  Francis  ;  "  and  it  was  n't  my  fault, 
Major ;  you  know  it  was  n't." 

"Kather  than  allow  you  to  go  on  ruining  her  as 
you  do,  I  will  tell  her,  Clavering,  and  tell  all  the 
world  too ;  that  is  what  I  swear  I  will  do,  unless  I 
can  come  to  some  terms  with  you,  and  put  some  curb 
on  your  infernal  folly.  By  play,  debt,  and  extrava- 
gance of  all  kinds,  you  've  got  through  half  your 
wife's  fortune,  and  that  of  her  legitimate  heirs,  mind 

—  her  legitimate  heirs.  Here  it  must  stop.  You 
can't  live  together.  You  're  not  fit  to  live  in  a  great 
house  like  Clavering ;  and  before  three  years  more 
were  over,  would  not  leave  a  shilling  to  carry  on. 
I 've  settled  what  must  be  done.  You  shall  have  six 
hundred  a-year ;  you  shall  go  abroad  and  live  on  that. 
You  must  give  up  Parliament,  and  get  on  as  well  as 
you  can.  If  you  refuse,  I  give  you  my  word  I  '11 
make  the  real  state  of  things  known  to-morrow ;  I  '11 
swear  to  Amory,  who,  when  identified,  will  go  back 
to  the  country  from  whence  he  came,  and  will  rid  the 
widow  of  you  and  himself  together.  And  so  that  boy 
of  yours  loses  at  once  all  title  to  old  Snell's  property, 
and  it  goes  to  your  wife's  daughter.  Ain't  I  making 
myself  pretty  clearly  understood  ?  " 

"  You  would  n't  be  so  cruel  to  that  poor  boy,  would 
you,  Pendennis  ? "  asked  the  father,  pleading  pite- 
ously  ;  "  hang  it,  think  about  him.    He 's  a  nice  boy  j 


194 


PENDENNIS. 


though  he 's  dev'lish  wild,  I  own  —  he 's  dev'lish 
wild." 

"  It 's  you  who  are  cruel  to  him,"  said  the  old  moral- 
ist. "  Why,  sir,  you  '11  ruin  him  yourself  inevitably 
in  three  years." 

"  Yes,  but  perhaps  I  won't  have  such  dev'lish  bad 
luck,  you  know ;  —  the  luck  must  turn  :  and  I  '11  re- 
form, by  Gad,  I  '11  reform.  And  if  you  were  to  split 
on  me,  it  would  cut  up  my  wife  so;  you  know  it 
would,  most  infernally." 

"To  be  parted  from  you,"  said  the  old  Major, 
with  a  sneer;  "you  know  she  won't  live  with  you 
again." 

"  But  why  can't  Lady  C.  live  abroad,  or  at  Bath,  or 
at  Tunbridge,  or  at  the  doose,  and  I  go  on  here  ?  " 
Clavering  continued.  "  I  like  being  here  better  than 
abroad,  and  I  like  being  in  Parliament.  It 's  dev'lish 
convenient  being  in  Parliament.  There's  very  few 
seats  like  mine  left;  and  if  I  gave  it  'em,  I  should 
not  wonder  the  Ministry  would  give  me  an  island  to 
govern,  or  some  dev'lish  good  thing ;  for  you  know 
I 'm  a  gentleman  of  dev'lish  good  family,  and  have  a 
handle  to  my  name,  and  —  and  that  sort  of  thing, 
Major  Pendennis.  Eh,  don't  you  see  ?  Don't  you 
think  they'd  give  me  something  dev'lish  good  if  I 
was  to  play  my  cards  well  ?  And  then,  you  know, 
I 'd  save  money,  and  be  kept  out  of  the  way  of  the 
confounded  hells  and  rouge  et  noir  —  and  —  and  so 
I 'd  rather  not  give  up  Parliament,  please."  For  at 
one  instant  to  hate  and  defy  a  man,  at  the  next  to 
weep  before  him,  and  at  the  next  to  be  perfectly  con- 
fidential and  friendly  with  him,  was  not  an  unusual 
process  with  our  versatile-minded  Baronet. 

"  As  for  your  seat  in  Parliament,"  the  Major  said, 
with  something  of  a  blush  on  his  cheek,  and  a  certain 


PENDENNIS. 


195 


tremor,  which  the  other  did  not  see,  "  you  must  part 
with  that,  Sir  Francis  Clavering,  to  —  to  me." 

"  What !  are  you  going  into  the  House,  Major  Pen- 
dennis  ?  " 

"  No  —  not  I ;  but  my  nephew,  Arthur,  is  a  very 
clever  fellow,  and  would  make  a  figure  there:  and 
when  Clavering  had  two  Members,  his  father  might 
very  likely  have  been  one ;  and  —  and  I  should  like 
Arthur  to  be  there,"  the  Major  said. 

"  Dammy,  does  he  know  it,  too  ?  "  cried  out  Claver- 
ing. 

"Nobody  knows  anything  out  of  this  room,"  Pen- 
dennis  answered ;  "  and  if  you  do  this  favor  for  me, 
I  hold  my  tongue.  If  not,  I 'm  a  man  of  my  word, 
and  will  do  what  I  have  said." 

"  I  say,  Major,"  said  Sir  Francis,  with  a  peculiarly 
humble  smile,  "  you  —  you  could  n't  get  me  my  first 
quarter  in  advance,  could  you,  like  the  best  of  fel- 
lows ?  You  can  do  anything  with  Lady  Clavering ; 
and,  upon  my  oath,  I  '11  take  up  that  bill  of  Abrams. 
The  little  dam  scoundrel,  I  know  he  '11  do  me  in  the 
business  —  he  always  does ;  and  if  you  could  do  this 
for  me,  we 'd  see,  Major." 

"  And  I  think  your  best  plan  would  be  to  go  down 
in  September  to  Clavering  to  shoot,  and  take  my 
nephew  with  you,  and  introduce  him.  Yes,  that  will 
be  the  best  time.  And  we  will  try  and  manage  about 
the  advance."  (Arthur  may  lend  him  that,  thought 
old  Pendennis.  Confound  him,  a  seat  in  Parliament 
is  worth  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds.)  "  And  Claver- 
ing, you  understand,  of  course,  my  nephew  knows 
nothing  about  this  business.  You  have  a  mind  to 
retire :  he  is  a  Clavering  man  and  a  good  representa- 
tive for  the  borough ;  you  introduce  him,  and  your 
people  vote  for  him  —  you  see." 


196 


PENDENNIS. 


"When  can  you  get  me  the  hundred  and  fifty, 
Major  ?  When  shall  I  come  and  see  you  ?  Will  you 
be  at  home  this  evening  or  to-morrow  morning  ? 
Will  you  have  anything  here  ?  They 've  got  some 
dev'lish  good  bitters  in  the  bar.  I  often  have  a  glass 
of  bitters,  it  sets  one  up  so." 

The  old  Major  would  take  no  refreshment;  but 
rose  and  took  his  leave  of  the  Baronet,  who  walked 
with  him  to  the  door  of  the  "  Wheel  of  Fortune,"  and 
then  strolled  into  the  bar,  where  he  took  a  glass  of 
gin  and  bitters  with  the  landlady  there :  and  a  gen- 
tleman connected  with  the  ring  (who  boarded  at  the 
"  Wheel  of  F.")  coming  in,  he  and  Sir  Francis  Claver- 
ing  and  the  landlord  talked  about  the  fights  and  the 
news  of  the  sporting  world  in  general ;  and  at  length 
Mr.  Moss  Abrams  arrived  with  the  proceeds  of  the 
Baronet's  bill,  from  which  his  own  handsome  com- 
mission was  deducted,  and  out  of  the  remainder  Sir 
Francis  "  stood "  a  dinner  at  Greenwich  to  his  dis- 
tinguished friend,  and  passed  the  evening  gayly  at 
Vauxhall. 

Meanwhile  Major  Pendennis,  calling  a  cab  in  Pic- 
cadilly, drove  to  Lamb  Court,  Temple,  where  he 
speedily  was  closeted  with  his  nephew  in  deep 
conversation. 

After  their  talk  they  parted  on  very  good  terms, 
and  it  was  in  consequence  of  that  unreported  conver- 
sation, whereof  the  reader  nevertheless  can  pretty 
well  guess  the  bearing,  that  Arthur  expressed  himself 
as  we  have  heard  in  the  colloquy  with  Warrington, 
which  is  reported  in  the  last  chapter. 

When  a  man  is  tempted  to  do  a  tempting  thing,  he 
can  find  a  hundred  ingenious  reasons  for  gratifying 
his  liking  :  and  Arthur  thought  very  much  that  he 
would  like  to  be  in  Parliament,  and  that  he  would 


PENDENNIS. 


197 


like  to  distinguish  himself  there,  and  that  he  need 
not  care  much  what  side  he  took,  as  there  was  false- 
hood and  truth  on  every  side.  And  on  this  and  on 
other  matters  he  thought  he  would  compromise  with 
his  conscience,  and  that  Sadduceeism  was  a  very 
convenient  and  good-humored  profession  of  faith. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


PHILLIS  AND  CORYDON. 

On  a  picturesque  common  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Tunbridge  Wells,  Lady  Clavering  had  found  a  pretty 
villa,  whither  she  retired  after  her  conjugal  disputes 
at  the  end  of  that  unlucky  London  season.  Miss 
Amory,  of  course,  accompanied  her  mother,  and 
Master  Clavering  came  home  for  the  holidays,  with 
whom  Blanche's  chief  occupation  was  to  fight  and 
quarrel.  But  this  was  only  a  home  pastime,  and  the 
young  schoolboy  was  not  fond  of  home  sports.  He 
found  cricket,  and  horses,  and  plenty  of  friends  at 
Tunbridge.  The  good-natured  Begum's  house  was 
filled  with  a  constant  society  of  young  gentlemen  of 
thirteen,  who  ate  and  drank  much  too  copiously  of 
tarts  and  champagne,  who  rode  races  on  the  lawn, 
and  frightened  the  fond  mother,  who  smoked  and 
made  themselves  sick,  and  the  dining-room  unbear- 
able to  Miss  Blanche.  She  did  not  like  the  society 
of  young  gentlemen  of  thirteen. 

As  for  that  fair  young  creature,  any  change  as  long 
as  it  was  change  was  pleasant  to  her ;  and  for  a  week 
or  two  she  would  have  liked  poverty  and  a  cottage, 
and  bread  and  cheese ;  and,  for  a  night,  perhaps,  a 
dungeon  and  bread  and  water,  and  so  the  move  to 
Tunbridge  was  by  no  means  unwelcome  to  her.  She 
wandered  in  the  woods,  and  sketched  trees  and  farm- 
houses ;  she  read  French  novels  habitually ;  she  drove 
into  Tunbridge  Wells  pretty  often,  and  to  any  play, 


PENDENNIS. 


199 


or  ball,  or  conjurer,  or  musician  who  might  happen 
to  appear  in  the  place;  she  slept  a  great  deal;  she 
quarrelled  with  mamma  and  Frank  during  the  morn- 
ing ;  she  found  the  little  village  school  and  attended 
it,  and  first  fondled  the  girls  and  thwarted  the  mis- 
tress, then  scolded  the  girls  and  laughed  at  the 
teacher;  she  was  constant  at  church,  of  course.  It 
was  a  pretty  little  church,  of  immense  antiquity  —  a 
little  Anglo-Norman  bijou,  built  the  day  before  yester- 
day, and  decorated  with  all  sorts  of  painted  windows, 
carved  saints'  heads,  gilt  scripture  texts,  and  open 
pews.  Blanche  began  forthwith  to  work  a  most  cor- 
rect high-church  altar-cover  for  the  church.  She 
passed  for  a  saint  with  the  clergyman  for  a  while, 
whom  she  quite  took  in,  and  whom  she  coaxed,  and 
wheedled,  and  fondled  so  artfully,  that  poor  Mrs. 
Smirke,  who  at  first  was  charmed  with  her,  then  bore 
with  her,  then  would  hardly  speak  to  her,  was  almost 
mad  with  jealousy.  Mrs.  Smirke  was  the  wife  of  our 
old  friend  Smirke,  Pen's  tutor  and  poor  Helen's 
suitor.  He  had  consoled  himself  for  her  refusal  with 
a  young  lady  from  Clapham  whom  his  mamma  pro- 
vided. When  the  latter  died,  our  friend's  views  be- 
came every  day  more  and  more  pronounced.  He  cut 
off  his  coat  collar,  and  let  his  hair  grow  over  his 
back.  He  rigorously  gave  up  the  curl  which  he  used 
to  sport  on  his  forehead,  and  the  tie  of  his  neck-cloth 
of  which  he  was  rather  proud.  He  went  without  any 
tie  at  all.  He  went  without  dinner  on  Fridays.  He 
read  the  Roman  Hours,  and  intimated  that  he  was 
ready  to  receive  confessions  in  the  vestry.  The  most 
harmless  creature  in  the  world,  he  was  denounced  as 
a  black  and  most  dangerous  Jesuit  and  Papist,  by 
Muffin  of  the  Dissenting  Chapel,  and  Mr.  Simoon 
Knight  at  the  old  church.    Mr.  Smirke  had  built  his 


PENDENNIS. 


chapel  of  ease  with  the  money  left  him  by  his  mother 
at  Clapham.  Lord  !  lord  !  what  would  she  have  said 
to  hear  a  table  called  an  altar !  to  see  candlesticks  on 
it !  to  get  letters  signed  on  the  Feast  of  Saint  So- 
and-so,  or  the  Vigil  of  Saint  What-d'-ye-call-'em  ! 
All  these  things  did  the  boy  of  Clapham  practise ;  his 
faithful  wife  following  him.  But  when  Blanche  had 
a  conference  of  near  two  hours  in  the  vestry  with 
Mr.  Smirke,  Belinda  paced  up  and  down  on  the  grass, 
where  there  were  only  two  little  grave-stones  as  yet ; 
she  wished  that  she  had  a  third  there :  only,  only  he 
would  offer  very  likely  to  that  creature  who  had  in- 
fatuated him  in  a  fortnight.  No,  she  would  retire ; 
she  would  go  into  a  convent,  and  profess  and  leave 
him.  Such  bad  thoughts  had  Smirke's  wife  and  his 
neighbors  regarding  him ;  these,  thinking  him  in 
direct  correspondence  with  the  Bishop  of  Rome ;  that, 
bewailing  errors  to  her  even  more  odious  and  fatal ; 
and  yet  our  friend  meant  no  earthly  harm.  The  post- 
office  never  brought  him  any  letters  from  the  Pope  ; 
he  thought  Blanche,  to  be  sure,  at  first,  the  most 
pious,  gifted,  right-thinking,  fascinating  person  he 
had  ever  met ;  and  her  manner  of  singing  the  Chants 
delighted  him  —  but  after  a  while  he  began  to  grow 
rather  tired  of  Miss  Amory,  her  ways  and  graces 
grew  stale  somehow ;  then  he  was  doubtful  about 
Miss  Amory;  then  she  made  a  disturbance  in  his 
school,  lost  her  temper,  and  rapped  the  children's 
fingers.  Blanche  inspired  this  admiration  and  sat- 
iety, somehow,  in  many  men.  She  tried  to  please 
them,  and  flung  out  all  her  graces  at  once ;  came 
down  to  them  with  all  her  jewels  on,  all  her  smiles, 
and  cajoleries,  and  coaxings,  and  ogles.  Then  she 
grew  tired  of  them  and  of  trying  to  please  them,  and 
never  having  cared  about  them,  dropped  them  :  and 


PENDENNIS. 


201 


the  men  grew  tired  of  her,  and  dropped  her  too.  It 
was  a  happy  night  for  Belinda  when  Blanche  went 
away;  and  her  husband,  with  rather  a  blush  and  a 
sigh,  said  "  he  had  been  deceived  in  her ;  he  had 
thought  her  endowed  with  many  precious  gifts,  he 
feared  they  were  mere  tinsel ;  he  thought  she  had 
been  a  right-thinking  person,  he  feared  she  had 
merely  made  religion  an  amusement  —  she  certainly 
had  quite  lost  her  temper  to  the  schoolmistress,  and 
beat  Polly  Rucker's  knuckles  cruelly."  Belinda  flew 
to  his  arms,  there  was  no  question  about  the  grave 
or  the  veil  any  more.  He  tenderly  embraced  her  on 
the  forehead.  "  There  is  none  like  thee,  my  Belinda,'' 
he  said,  throwing  his  fine  eyes  up  to  the  ceiling, 
"  precious  among  women !  "  As  for  Blanche,  from 
the  instant  she  lost  sight  of  him  and  Belinda,  she 
never  thought  or  cared  about  either  any  more. 

But  when  Arthur  went  down  to  pass  a  few  days  at 
Tunbridge  Wells  with  the  Begum,  this  stage  of  in- 
difference had  not  arrived  on  Miss  Blanche's  part  or 
on  that  of  the  simple  clergyman.  Smirke  believed 
her  to  be  an  angel  and  wonder  of  a  woman.  Such  a 
perfection  he  had  never  seen,  and  sat  listening  to  her 
music  in  the  summer  evenings,  open-mouthed,  rapt 
in  wonder,  tea-less,  and  bread-and-butterless.  Fasci- 
nating as  he  had  heard  the  music  of  the  opera  to  be 
—  he  had  never  but  once  attended  an  exhibition  of 
that  nature  (which  he  mentioned  with  a  blush  and  a 
sigh  —  it  was  on  that  day  when  he  had  accompanied 
Helen  and  her  son  to  the  play  at  Chatteris)  —  he 
could  not  conceive  anything  more  delicious,  more 
celestial,  he  had  almost  said,  than  Miss  Amory's 
music.  She  was  a  most  gifted  being :  she  had  a  pre- 
cious soul :  she  had  the  most  remarkable  talents  —  to 
all  outward  seeming,  the  most  heavenly  disposition, 


202 


PENDENNIS. 


etc.,  etc.  It  was  in  this  way  that,  being  then  at  the 
height  of  his  own  fever  and  bewitchment  for  Blanche, 
Smirke  discoursed  to  Arthur  about  her. 

The  meeting  between  the  two  old  acquaintances 
had  been  very  cordial.  Arthur  loved  anybody  who 
loved  his  mother ;  Smirke  could  speak  on  that  theme 
with  genuine  feeling  and  emotion.  They  had  a  hun- 
dred things  to  tell  each  other  of  what  had  occurred  in 
their  lives.  "  Arthur  would  perceive,"  Smirke  said, 
"  that  his  —  his  views  on  church  matters  had  de- 
veloped themselves  since  their  acquaintance."  Mrs. 
Smirke,  a  most  exemplary  person,  seconded  them 
with  all  her  endeavors.  He  had  built  this  little 
church  on  his  mother's  demise,  who  had  left  him 
provided  with  a  sufficiency  of  worldly  means.  Though 
in  the  cloister  himself,  he  had  heard  of  Arthur's  repu- 
tation. He  spoke  in  the  kindest  and  most  saddened 
tone ;  he  held  his  eyelids  down,  and  bowed  his  fair 
head  on  one  side.  Arthur  was  immensely  amused 
with  him ;  with  his  airs ;  with  his  follies  and  sim- 
plicity ;  with  his  black  stock  and  long  hair  ;  with  his 
real  goodness,  kindness,  friendliness  of  feeling.  And 
his  praises  of  Blanche  pleased  and  surprised  our 
friend  not  a  little,  and  made  him  regard  her  with 
eyes  of  particular  favor. 

The  truth  is,  Blanche  was  very  glad  to  see  Arthur ; 
as  one  is  glad  to  see  an  agreeable  man  in  the  country, 
who  brings  down  the  last  news  and  stories  from  the 
great  city ;  who  can  talk  better  than  most  country 
folks,  at  least  can  talk  that  darling  London  jargon, 
so  dear  and  indispensable  to  London  people,  so  little 
understood  by  persons  out  of  the  world.  The  first 
day  Pen  came  down,  he  kept  Blanche  laughing  for 
hours  after  dinner.  She  sang  her  songs  with  re- 
doubled spirit.    She  did  not  scold  her  mother :  she 


PEXDENNIS. 


203 


fondled  and  kissed  her,  to  the  honest  Begum's  sur- 
prise. When  it  came  to  bedtime,  she  said,  "  Deja  /" 
with  the  prettiest  air  of  regret  possible  ;  and  was  really 
quite  sorry  to  go  to  bed,  and  squeezed  Arthur's  hand 
quite  fondly.  He  on  his  side  gave  her  pretty  palm 
a  very  cordial  pressure.  Our  young  gentleman  was 
of  that  turn,  that  eyes  very  moderately  bright 
dazzled  him. 

"  She  is  very  much  improved,"  thought  Pen,  look- 
ing out  into  the  night,  "  very  much.  I  suppose  the 
Begum  won't  mind  my  smoking  with  the  window 
open.  She 's  a  jolly  good  old  woman,  and  Blanche 
is  immensely  improved.  I  liked  her  manner  with 
her  mother  to-night.  I  liked  her  laughing  way  with 
that  stupid  young  cub  of  a  boy,  whom  they  ought  n't 
to  allow  to  get  tipsy.  She  sang  those  little  verses 
very  prettily ;  they  were  devilish  pretty  verses  too, 
though  I  say  it  who  should  n't  say  it."  And  he 
hummed  a  tune  which  Blanche  had  put  to  some 
verses  of  his  own.  "  Ah  !  what  a  fine  night !  How 
jolly  a  cigar  is  at  night !  How  pretty  that  little 
Saxon  church  looks  in  the  moonlight !  I  wonder 
what  old  Warrington 's  doing  ?  Yes,  she 's  a  dayv- 
lish  nice  little  thing,  as  my  uncle  says." 

"  Oh,  heavenly  !  "  Here  broke  out  a  voice  from  a 
clematis-covered  casement  near  —  a  girl's  voice :  it 
was  the  voice  of  the  author  of  "  Mes  Larmes." 

Pen  burst  into  a  laugh.  "  Don't  tell  about  my 
smoking,"  he  said,  leaning  out  of  his  own  window. 

"  Oh  !  go  on  !  I  adore  it,"  cried  the  lady  of  "  Mes 
Larmes."  "  Heavenly  night !  Heavenly,  heavenly 
moon !  but  I  must  shut  my  window  and  not  talk  to 
you,  on  account  of  les  mceurs  /  How  droll  they  are, 
les  mceurs  !  Adieu."  And  Pen  began  to  sing  the 
"  Good  Night  "  to  "  Don  Basilio." 


204 


PENDENNIS. 


The  next  day  they  were  walking  in  the  fields  to- 
gether, laughing  and  chattering  —  the  gayest  pair  of 
friends.  They  talked  about  the  days  of  their  youth, 
and  Blanche  was  prettily  sentimental.  They  talked 
about  Laura,  dearest  Laura  —  Blanche  had  loved  her 
as  a  sister  :  was  she  happy  with  that  odd  Lady  Rock- 
minster  ?  Would  n't  she  come  and  stay  with  them 
at  Tunbridge  ?  Oh,  what  walks  they  would  take  to- 
gether !  What  songs  they  would  sing  —  the  old,  old 
songs.  Laura's  voice  was  splendid.  Did  Arthur  — 
she  must  call  him  Arthur  —  remember  the  songs  they 
sang  in  the  happy  old  days,  now  he  was  grown  such 
a  great  man,  and  had  such  a  succes  ?    Etc.,  etc. 

And  the  day  after,  which  was  enlivened  with  a 
happy  ramble  through  the  woods  to  Penshurst,  and 
a  sight  of  that  pleasant  park  and  hall,  came  that  con- 
versation with  the  Curate  which  we  have  narrated, 
and  which  made  our  young  friend  think  more  and 
more. 

"  Is  she  all  this  perfection  ? "  he  asked  himself. 
"  Has  she  become  serious  and  religious  ?  Does  she 
tend  schools  and  visit  the  poor  ?  Is  she  kind  to  her 
mother  and  brother  ?  Yes,  I  am  sure  of  that :  I  have 
seen  her."  And  walking  with  his  old  tutor  over  his 
little  parish,  and  going  to  visit  his  school,  it  was  with 
inexpressible  delight  that  Pen  found  Blanche  seated 
instructing  the  children,  and  fancied  to  himself  how 
patient  she  must  be,  how  good-natured,  how  ingenu- 
ous, how  really  simple  in  her  tastes,  and  unspoiled 
by  the  world. 

"  And  do  you  really  like  the  country  ?  "  he  asked 
her,  as  they  walked  together. 

"  I  should  like  never  to  see  that  odious  city  again. 
Oh,  Arthur  —  that  is,  Mr.  —  well,  Arthur,  then  — 
one's  good  thoughts  grow  up  in  these  sweet  woods 


Miss  Amory's  Interesting  Employment. 


PENDENNIS. 


205 


and  calm  solitudes,  like  those  flowers  which  won't 
bloom  in  London,  you  know.  The  gardener  comes 
and  changes  our  balconies  once  a  week.  I  don't 
think  I  shall  bear  to  look  London  in  the  face  again 
—  its  odious,  smoky,  brazen  face  !    But,  heigho  ! 99 

"  Why  that  sigh,  Blanche  ?  " 

"  Xever  mind  why." 

"Yes,  I  do  mind  why.  Tell  me,  tell  me  every- 
thing." 

"  I  wish  you  had  n't  come  down ;  "  and  a  second 
edition  of  "  Mes  Soupirs  "  came  out. 

"  You  don't  want  me,  Blanche  ?  " 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  go  away.  I  don't  think  this 
house  will  be  very  happy  without  you,  and  that 's  why 
I  wish  that  you  never  had  come." 

"Mes  Soupirs"  were  here  laid  aside,  and  "Mes 
Larmes"  had  begun. 

Ah  !  What  answer  is  given  to  those  in  the  eyes  of 
a  young  woman  ?  What  is  the  method  employed  for 
drying  them  ?  What  took  place  ?  0  ringdoves  and 
roses,  0  dews  and  wild-flowers,  0  waving  greenwoods 
and  balmy  airs  of  summer !  Here  were  two  battered 
London  rakes,  taking  themselves  in  for  a  moment,  and 
fancying  that  they  were  in  love  with  each  other,  like 
Phillis  and  Corydon  ! 

When  one  thinks  of  country  houses  and  country 
walks,  one  wonders  that  any  man  is  left  unmarried. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


TEMPTATION. 

Easy  and  frank-spoken  as  Pendennis  commonly  was 
with  Warrington,  how  came  it  that  Arthur  did  not  in- 
form the  friend  and  depositary  of  all  his  secrets,  of 
the  little  circumstances  which  had  taken  place  at  the 
villa  near  Tunbridge  Wells  ?  He  talked  about  the 
discovery  of  his  old  tutor  Smirke,  freely  enough,  and 
of  his  wife,  and  of  his  Anglo-Norman  church,  and  of 
his  departure  from  Clapham  to  Rome ;  but,  when  asked 
about  Blanche,  his  answers  were  evasive  or  general; 
he  said  she  was  a  good-natured  clever  little  thing,  that 
rightly  guided  she  might  make  no  such  bad  wife  after 
all,  but  that  he  had  for  the  moment  no  intention  of 
marriage,  that  his  days  of  romance  were  over,  that  he 
was  contented  with  his  present  lot,  and  so  forth. 

In  the  mean  time  there  came  occasionally  to  Lamb 
Cour£f  Temple,  pretty  little  satin  envelopes,  super- 
scribed in  the  neatest  handwriting,  and  sealed  with 
one  of  those  admirable  ciphers,  which,  if  Warrington 
had  been  curious  enough  to  watch  his  friend's  letters, 
or  indeed  if  the  cipher  had  been  decipherable,  would 
have  shown  George  that  Mr.  Arthur  was  in  corre- 
spondence with  a  young  lady  whose  initials  were  B.  A. 
To  these  pretty  little  compositions,  Mr.  Pen  replied 
in  his  best  and  gallantest  manner;  with  jokes,  with 
news  of  the  town,  with  points  of  wit,  nay,  with  pretty 
little  verses  very  likely,  in  reply  to  the  versicles  of  the 


PENDEXNIS. 


207 


Muse  of  "Mes  Larmes."  Blanche  we  know  rhymes 
with  "  branch,"  and  "  stanch,"  and  "  launch,"  and  no 
doubt  a  gentleman  of  Pen's  ingenuity  would  not  forego 
these  advantages  of  position,  and  would  ring  the  pretty 
little  changes  upon  these  pleasing  notes.  Indeed  we 
believe  that  those  love-verses  of  Mr.  Pen's  which  had 
such  a  pleasing  success  in  the  "  Kose-leaves,"  that 
charming  Annual  edited  by  Lady  Violet  Lebas,  and 
illustrated  by  portraits  of  the  female  nobility  by  the 
famous  artist  Pinkney,  were  composed  at  this  period 
of  our  hero's  life ;  and  were  first  addressed  to  Blanche, 
per  post,  before  they  figured  in  print,  cornets  as  it  were 
to  Pinkney's  pictorial  garland. 

"Verses  are  all  very  well,"  the  elder  Pendennis  said, 
who  found  Pen  scratching  down  one  of  these  artless 
effusions  at  the  Club  as  he  was  waiting  for  his  dinner ; 
"and  letter-writing  if  mamma  allows  it,  and  between 
such  old  country  friends  of  course  there  may  be  a 
correspondence,  and  that  sort  of  thing — but  mind, 
Pen,  and  don't  commit  yourself,  my  boy.  For  who 
knows  what  the  doose  may  happen  ?  The  best  way 
is  to  make  your  letters  safe.  I  never  wrote  a  letter 
in  all  my  life  that  would  commit  me,  and  demmy,  sir, 
I  have  had  some  experience  of  women."  And  the 
worthy  gentleman,  growing  more  garrulous  a#d  confi- 
dential with  his  nephew  as  he  grew  older,  told  many 
affecting  instances  of  the  evil  results  consequent  upon 
this  want  of  caution  to  many  persons  in  "  society  ; " 
—  how  from  using  too  ardent  expressions  in  some 
poetical  notes  to  the  widow  Naylor,  young  Spoony 
had  subjected  himself  to  a  visit  of  remonstrance  from 
the  widow's  brother,  Colonel  Flint  ;  and  thus  had 
been  forced  into  a  marriage  with  a  woman  old  enough 
to  be  his  mother :  how  when  Louisa  Salter  had  at 
length  succeeded  in  securing  young  Sir  John  Bird, 


208 


PENDENNIS. 


Hopwood,  of  the  Blues,  produced  some  letters  which 
Miss  S.  had  written  to  him,  and  caused  a  withdrawal 
on  Bird's  part,  who  afterwards  was  united  to  Miss 
Stickney,  of  Lyme  Begis,  etc.  The  Major,  if  he  had 
not  reading,  had  plenty  of  observation,  and  could  back 
his  wise  saws  with  a  multitude  of  modern  instances, 
which  he  had  acquired  in  a  long  and  careful  perusal 
of  the  great  book  of  the  world. 

Pen  laughed  at  the  examples,  and  blushing  a  little 
at  his  uncle's  remonstrances,  said  that  he  would  bear 
them  in  mind  and  be  cautious.  He  blushed,  perhaps, 
because  he  had  borne  them  in  mind ;  because  he  was 
cautious  :  because  in  his  letters  to  Miss  Blanche  he 
had  from  instinct,  or  honesty  perhaps,  refrained  from 
any  avowals  which  might  compromise  him.  "Don't 
you  remember  the  lesson  I  had,  sir,  in  Lady  Mirabel's 
—  Miss  Fotheringay's  affair  ?  I  am  not  to  be  caught 
again,  Uncle,"  Arthur  said  with  mock  frankness  and 
humility.  Old  Pendennis  congratulated  himself  and 
his  nephew  heartily  on  the  latter's  prudence  and  pro- 
gress, and  was  pleased  at  the  position  which  Arthur 
was  taking  as  a  man  of  the  world. 

No  doubt,  if  Warrington  had  been  consulted,  his 
opinion  would  have  been  different :  and  he  would 
have  told  Pen  that  the  boy's  foolish  letters  were  bet- 
ter than  the  man's  adroit  compliments  and  slippery 
gallantries  ;  that  to  win  the  woman  he  loves,  only  a 
knave  or  a  coward  advances  under  cover,  with  subter- 
fuges, and  a  retreat  secured  behind  him :  but  Pen  spoke 
not  on  this  matter  to  Mr.  Warrington,  knowing  pretty 
well  that  he  was  guilty,  and  what  his  friend's  verdict 
would  be. 

Colonel  Altamont  had  not  been  for  many  weeks 
absent  on  his  foreign  tour  —  Sir  Francis  Clavering 
having  retired  meanwhile  into  the  country  pursuant  to 


PENDENNIS. 


209 


his  agreement  with  Major  Pendennis — when  the  ills 
of  fate  began  to  fall  rather  suddenly  and  heavily  upon 
the  sole  remaining  partner  of  the  little  firm  of  Shep- 
herd's Inn.  When  Strong,  at  parting  with  Altamont, 
refused  the  loan  proffered  by  the  latter  in  the  fulness 
of  his  purse  and  the  generosity  of  his  heart,  he  made 
such  a  sacrifice  to  conscience  and  delicacy  as  caused 
him  many  an  after-twinge  and  pang ;  and  he  felt  — 
it  was  not  very  many  hours  in  his  life  he  had  experi- 
enced the  feeling  —  that  in  this  juncture  of  his  affairs 
he  had  been  too  delicate  and  too  scrupulous.  Why 
should  a  fellow  in  want  refuse  a  kind  offer  kindly 
made  ?  Why  should  a  thirsty  man  decline  a  pitcher 
of  water  from  a  friendly  hand,  because  it  was  a  little 
soiled  ?  Strong's  conscience  smote  him  for  refusing 
what  the  other  had  fairly  come  by,  and  generously 
proffered:  and  he  thought  ruefully,  now  it  was  too 
late,  that  Altamont's  cash  would  have  been  as  well  in 
his  pocket  as  in  that  of  the  gambling-house  proprietor 
at  Baden  or  Ems,  with  whom  his  Excellency  would 
infallibly  leave  his  Derby  winnings.  It  was  whispered 
among  the  tradesmen,  bill-discounters,  and  others  who 
had  commercial  dealings  with  Captain  Strong,  that  he 
and  the  Baronet  had  parted  company,  and  that  the 
Captain's  "  paper  "  was  henceforth  of  no  value.  The 
tradesmen,  who  had  put  a  wonderful  confidence  in  him 
hitherto,  —  for  who  could  resist  Strong's  jolly  face 
and  frank  and  honest  demeanor  ?  —  now  began  to 
pour  in  their  bills  with  a  cowardly  mistrust  and 
unanimity.  The  knocks  at  the  Shepherd's  Inn  cham- 
bers' door  were  constant,  and  tailors,  bootmakers, 
pastry-cooks  who  had  furnished  dinners,  in  their  own 
persons,  or  by  the  boys  their  representatives,  held 
levees  on  Strong's  stairs.  To  these  were  added  one  or 
two  persons  of  a  less  clamorous  but  far  more  sly  and 


210 


PENDENNIS. 


dangerous  sort,  —  the  young  clerks  of  lawyers,  namely, 
who  lurked  about  the  Inn,  or  concerted  with  Mr.  Cam- 
pion's young  man  in  the  chambers  hard  by,  having  in 
their  dismal  pocket-books  copies  of  writs  to  be  served 
on  Edward  Strong,  requiring  him  to  appear  on  an 
early  day  next  term  before  our  Sovereign  Lady  the 
Queen,  and  answer  to  etc.,  etc. 

From  this  invasion  of  creditors,  poor  Strong,  who 
had  not  a  guinea  in  his  pocket,  had,  of  course,  no  re> 
fuge  but  that  of  the  Englishman's  castle,  into  which, 
he  retired,  shutting  the  outer  and  inner  door  upon  the 
enemy,  and  not  quitting  his  stronghold  until  after 
nightfall.  Against  this  outer  barrier  the  foe  used  to 
come  and  knock  and  curse  in  vain,  whilst  the  Chevalier 
peeped  at  them  from  behind  the  little  curtain  which 
he  had  put  over  the  orifice  of  his  letter-box  ;  and  had 
the  dismal  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  faces  of  furious 
clerk  and  fiery  dun,  as  they  dashed  up  against  the 
door  and  retreated  from  it.  But  as  they  could  not 
be  always  at  his  gate,  or  sleep  on  his  staircase,  the 
enemies  of  the  Chevalier  sometimes  left  him  free. 

Strong,  when  so  pressed  by  his  commercial  antago* 
nists,  was  not  quite  alone  in  his  defence  against  them, 
but  had  secured  for  himself  an  ally  or  two.  His 
friends  were  instructed  to  communicate  with  him  by 
a  system  of  private  signals  :  and  they  thus  kept  the 
garrison  from  starving  by  bringing  in  necessary  sup- 
plies, and  kept  up  Strong's  heart  and  prevented  him 
from  surrendering,  by  visiting  him  and  cheering  him 
in  his  retreat.  Two  of  Ned's  most  faithful  allies  were 
Huxter  and  Miss  Fanny  Bolton  :  when  hostile  visitors 
were  prowling  about  the  Inn,  Fanny's  little  sisters 
were  taught  a  particular  cry  orjodel,  which  they  inno- 
cently whooped  in  the  court :  when  Fanny  and  Huxter 
came  up  to  visit  Strong,  they  archly  sang  this  same 


PENDENNIS. 


211 


note  at  his  door ;  when  that  barrier  was  straightway- 
opened,  the  honest  garrison  came  out  smiling,  the  pro- 
visions and  the  pot  of  porter  were  brought  in,  and  in 
the  society  of  his  faithful  friends  the  beleaguered  one 
passed  a  comfortable  night.  There  are  some  men  who 
could  not  live  under  this  excitement,  but  Strong  was 
a  brave  man,  as  we  have  said,  who  had  seen  service  and 
never  lost  heart  in  peril. 

But  besides  allies,  our  general  had  secured  for  him- 
self, under  difficulties,  that  still  more  necessary  aid,  — 
a  retreat.  It  has  been  mentioned  in  a  former  part  of 
this  history,  how  Messrs.  Costigan  and  Bows  lived  in 
the  house  next  door  to  Captain  Strong,  and  that  the 
window  of  one  of  their  rooms  was  not  very  far  off  the 
kitchen-window  which  was  situated  in  the  upper  story 
of  Strong's  chambers.  A  leaden  water-pipe  and  gutter 
served  for  the  two  ;  and  Strong,  looking  out  from  his 
kitchen  one  day,  saw  that  he  could  spring  with  great 
ease  up  to  the  sill  of  his  neighbor's  window,  and 
clamber  up  the  pipe  which  communicated  from  one 
to  the  other.  He  had  laughingly  shown  this  refuge 
to  his  chum,  Altamont ;  and  they  had  agreed  that  it 
would  be  as  well  not  to  mention  the  circumstance  to 
Captain  Costigan,  whose  duns  were  numerous,  and 
who  would  be  constantly  flying  down  the  pipe  into 
their  apartments  if  this  way  of  escape  were  shown 
to  him. 

But  now  that  the  evil  days  were  come,  Strong  made 
use  of  the  passage,  and  one  afternoon  burst  in  upon 
Bows  and  Costigan  with  his  jolly  face,  and  explained 
that  the  enemy  was  in  waiting  on  his  staircase,  and 
that  he  had  taken  this  means  of  giving  them  the  slip. 
So  while  Mr.  Mark's  aides-de-camp  were  in  waiting  in 
the  passage  of  No.  3,  Strong  walked  down  the  steps 
of  No.  4,  dined  at  the  Albion,  went  to  the  play,  and 


212 


PENDENNIS. 


returned  home  at  midnight,  to  the  astonishment  of 
Mrs.  Bolton  and  Fanny,  who  had  not  seen  him  quit 
his  chambers  and  could  not  conceive  how  he  could 
have  passed  the  line  of  sentries. 

Strong  bore  this  siege  for  some  weeks  with  admira- 
ble spirit  and  resolution,  and  as  only  such  an  old  and 
brave  soldier  would,  for  the  pains  and  privations 
which  he  had  to  endure  were  enough  to  depress 
any  man  of  ordinary  courage ;  and  what  vexed  and 
"  riled "  him  (to  use  his  own  expression)  was  the 
infernal  indifference  and  cowardly  ingratitude  of 
Clavering,  to  whom  he  wrote  letter  after  letter, 
which  the  Baronet  never  acknowledged  by  a  single 
word,  or  by  the  smallest  remittance,  though  a  five- 
pound  note,  as  Strong  said,  at  that  time  would  have 
been  a  fortune  to  him. 

But  better  days  were  in  store  for  the  Chevalier,  and 
in  the  midst  of  his  despondency  and  perplexities  there 
came  to  him  a  most  welcome  aid.  "  Yes,  if  it  had  n't 
been  for  this  good  fellow  here,"  said  Strong ;  "  for  a 
good  fellow  you  are,  Altamont,  my  boy,  and  hang  me 
if  I  don't  stand  by  you  as  long  as  I  live;  I  think, 
Pendennis,  it  would  have  been  all  up  with  Ned 
Strong.  It  was  the  fifth  week  of  my  being  kept  a 
prisoner,  for  I  could  n't  be  always  risking  my  neck 
across  that  water-pipe,  and  taking  my  walks  abroad 
through  poor  old  Cos's  window,  and  my  spirit  was 
quite  broken,  sir  —  dammy,  quite  beat,  and  I  was 
thinking  of  putting  an  end  to  myself,  and  should 
have  done  it  in  another  week,  when  who  should  drop 
down  from  heaven  but  Altamont !  " 

"Heaven  am't  exactly  the  place,  Ned,"  said  Alta- 
mont. "I  came  from  Baden-Baden,"  said  he,  "and 
I 'd  had  a  deuced  lucky  month  there,  that 's  all." 

"  Well,  sir,  he  took  up  Mark's  bill,  and  he  paid  the 


PENDENNIS. 


213 


other  fellows  that  were  upon  me,  like  a  man,  sir,  that 
he  did,"  said  Strong,  enthusiastically. 

"  And  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  stand  a  bottle  of 
claret  for  this  company,  and  as  many  more  as  the 
company  chooses,"  said  Mr.  Altamont,  with  a  blush. 
M  Hallo !  waiter,  bring  us  a  magnum  of  the  right  sort, 
do  you  hear  ?  And  we  '11  drink  our  healths  all  round, 
sir — and  may  every  good  fellow  like  Strong  find 
another  good  fellow  to  stand  by  him  at  a  pinch. 
That 's  my  sentiment,  Mr.  Pendennis,  though  I  don't 
like  your  name." 

"  No  !    And  why  ?  "  asked  Arthur. 

Strong  pressed  the  Colonel's  foot  under  the  table 
here ;  and  Altamont,  rather  excited,  filled  up  another 
bumper,  nodded  to  Pen,  drank  off  his  wine,  and  said, 
"He  was  a  gentleman,  and  that  was  sufficient,  and 
they  were  all  gentlemen." 

The  meeting  between  these  "  all  gentlemen  "  took 
place  at  Richmond,  whither  Pendennis  had  gone  to 
dinner,  and  where  he  found  the  Chevalier  and  his 
friend  at  table  in  the  coffee-room.  Both  of  the  latter 
were  exceedingly  hilarious,  talkative,  and  excited  by 
wine,  and  Strong,  who  was  an  admirable  story-teller, 
told  the  story  of  his  own  siege,  and  adventures  and 
escapes  with  liveliness  and  humor,  and  described  the 
talk  of  the  sheriff's  officers  at  his  door,  the  pretty  lit- 
tle signals  of  Fanny,  the  grotesque  exclamations  of 
Costigan  when  the  Chevalier  burst  in  at  his  window, 
and  his  final  rescue  by  Altamont,  in  a  most  graphic 
manner,  and  so  as  greatly  to  interest  his  hearers. 

"  As  for  me,  it 's  nothing,"  Altamont  said.  "  When 
a  ship 's  paid  off,  a  chap  spends  his  money,  you  know. 
And  it 's  the  fellers  at  the  black  and  red  at  Baden- 
Baden  that  did  it.  I  won  a  good  bit  of  money  there, 
and  intend  to  win  a  good  bit  more,  don't  I,  Strong  ? 


214 


PENDENNIS. 


I 'm  going  to  take  him  with  me.  I  've  got  a  system. 
I  '11  make  his  fortune,  I  tell  you.  I  '11  make  your  for- 
tune if  you  like  —  dammy,  everybody's  fortune.  But 
what  I  '11  do,  and  no  mistake,  boys,  I  promise  you ; 
I  '11  put  in  for  that  little  Fanny.  Dammy,  sir,  what 
do  you  think  she  did  ?  She  had  two  pound,  and  I 'm 
blest  if  she  did  n't  go  and  lend  it  to  Ned  Strong ! 
Didn't  she,  Ned?    Let's  drink  her  health." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  Arthur,  and  pledged  this 
toast  with  the  greatest  cordiality. 

Mr.  Altamont  then  began,  with  the  greatest  volu- 
bility, and  at  great  length,  to  describe  his  system. 
He  said  that  it  was  infallible,  if  played  with  cool- 
ness ;  that  he  had  it  from  a  chap  at  Baden,  who  had 
lost  by  it,  it  was  true,  but  because  he  had  not  capital 
enough ;  if  he  could  have  stood  one  more  turn  of  the 
wheel,  he  would  have  had  all  his  money  back ;  that 
he  and  several  more  chaps  were  going  to  make  a  bank, 
and  try  it ;  and  that  he  would  put  every  shilling  he 
was  worth  into  it,  and  had  come  back  to  this  country, 
for  the  express  purpose  of  fetching  away  his  money, 
and  Captain  Strong ;  that  Strong  should  play  for 
him  :  that  he  could  trust  Strong  and  his  temper  much 
better  than  he  could  his  own,  and  much  better  than 
Bloundell-Bloundell  or  the  Italian  that  "  stood  in." 
As  he  emptied  his  bottle,  the  Colonel  described  at 
full  length  all  his  plans  and  prospects  to  Pen,  who 
was  interested  in  listening  to  his  story,  and  the  con- 
fessions of  his  daring  and  lawless  good-humor. 

"  I  met  that  queer  fellow  Altamont  the  other  day," 
Pen  said  to  his  uncle,  a  day  or  two  afterwards. 

"Altamont?  What  Altamont?  There's  Lord 
Westport's  son,"  said  the  Major. 

"  No,  no ;  the  fellow  who  came  tipsy  into  Cover- 
ing's dining-room  one  day  when  we  were  there,"  said 


PENDENNIS. 


215 


the  nephew,  laughing ;  "  and  he  said  he  did  not  like 
the  name  of  Pendennis,  though  he  did  me  the  honor 
to  think  that  I  was  a  good  fellow." 

"  I  don't  know  any  man  of  the  name  of  Altamont, 
I  give  you  my  honor,"  said  the  impenetrable  Major; 
"  and  as  for  your  acquaintance,  I  think  the  less  you 
have  to  do  with  him  the  better,  Arthur." 

Arthur  laughed  again.  "  He  is  going  to  quit  the 
country,  and  make  his  fortune  by  a  gambling  system. 
He  and  my  amiable  college  acquaintance,  Bloundell, 
are  partners,  and  the  Colonel  takes  out  Strong  with 
him  as  aide-de-camp.  What  is  it  that  binds  the  Chev- 
alier and  Clavering,  I  wonder  ?  " 

"  I  should  think,  mind  you,  Pen,  I  should  think  — 
but  of  course  I  have  only  the  idea  —  that  there  has 
been  something  in  Clavering's  previous  life  which 
gives  these  fellows  and  some  others  a  certain  power 
over  him ;  and  if  there  should  be  such  a  secret,  which 
is  no  affair  of  ours,  my  boy,  dammy,  I  say,  it  ought 
to  be  a  lesson  to  a  man  to  keep  himself  straight  in 
life,  and  not  to  give  any  man  a  chance  over  him." 

"  Why,  I  think  you  have  some  means  of  persuasion 
over  Clavering,  Uncle,  or  why  should  he  give  me  that 
seat  in  Parliament  ?  " 

"  Clavering  thinks  he  ain't  fit  for  Parliament,"  the 
Major  answered.  "  No  more  he  is.  What 's  to  pre- 
vent him  from  putting  you  or  anybody  else  into  his 
place  if  he  likes  ?  Do  you  think  that  the  Govern- 
ment or  the  Opposition  would  make  any  bones  about 
accepting  the  seat  if  he  offered  it  to  them  ?  Why 
should  you  be  more  squeamish  than  the  first  men,  and 
the  most  honorable  men,  and  men  of  the  highest  birth 
and  position  in  the  country,  begad  ?  "  The  Colonel 
had  an  answer  of  this  kind  to  most  of  Pen's  objec- 
tions, and  Pen  accepted  his  uncle's  replies,  not  so 


216 


PENDENNIS. 


much  because  he  believed  them,  but  because  he  wished 
to  believe  them.  We  do  a  thing  —  which  of  us  has 
not  ?  —  not  because  "everybody  does  it,"  but  because 
we  like  it ;  and  our  acquiescence,  alas  !  proves  not 
that  everybody  is  right,  but  that  we  and  the  rest  of 
the  world  are  poor  creatures  alike. 

At  his  next  visit  to  Tunbridge,  Mr.  Pen  did  not  for- 
get to  amuse  Miss  Blanche  with  the  history  which  he 
had  learned  at  Eichmond  of  the  Chevalier's  imprison- 
ment, and  of  Altamont's  gallant  rescue.  And  after  he 
had  told  his  tale  in  his  usual  satirical  way,  he  men- 
tioned with  praise  and  emotion  little  Fanny's  generous 
behavior  to  the  Chevalier,  and  Altamont's  enthusiasm 
in  her  behalf. 

Miss  Blanche  was  somewhat  jealous,  and  a  good 
deal  piqued  and  curious  about  Fanny.  Among  the 
many  confidential  little  communications  which  Arthur 
made  to  Miss  Amory  in  the  course  of  their  delightful 
rural  drives  and  their  sweet  evening  walks,  it  may  be 
supposed  that  our  hero  would  not  forget  a  story  so 
interesting  to  himself,  and  so  likely  to  be  interesting 
to  her,  as  that  of  the  passion  and  care  of  the  poor 
little  Ariadne  of  Shepherd's  Inn.  His  own  part  in 
that  drama  he  described,  to  do  him  justice,  with  be- 
coming modesty ;  the  moral  which  he  wished  to  draw 
from  the  tale  being  one  in  accordance  with  his  usual 
satirical  mood,  viz.,  that  women  get  over  their  first 
loves  quite  as  easily  as  men  do  (for  the  fair  Blanche, 
in  their  intimes  conversations,  did  not  cease  to  twit 
Mr.  Pen  about  his  notorious  failure  in  his  own  virgin 
attachment  to  the  Fotheringay),  and,  number  one  being 
withdrawn,  transfer  themselves  to  number  two  with- 
out much  difficulty.  And  poor  little  Fanny  was  offered 
up  in  sacrifice  as  an  instance  to  prove  this  theory. 


PENDENNIS. 


217 


What  griefs  she  had  endured  and  surmounted,  what 
bitter  pangs  of  hopeless  attachment  she  had  gone 
through,  what  time  it  had  taken  to  heal  those  wounds 
of  the  tender  little  bleeding  heart,  Mr.  Pen  did  not 
know,  or  perhaps  did  not  choose  to  know ;  for  he  was 
at  once  modest  and  doubtful  about  his  capabilities  as 
a  conqueror  of  hearts,  and  averse  to  believe  that  he 
had  executed  any  dangerous  ravages  on  that  particular 
one,  though  his  own  instance  and  argument  told  against 
himself  in  this  case  ;  for  if,  as  he  said,  Miss  Fanny  was 
by  this  time  in  love  with  her  surgical  adorer,  who  had 
neither  good  looks  nor  good  manners,  nor  wit,  nor 
anything  but  ardor  and  fidelity  to  recommend  him, 
must  she  not,  in  her  first  sickness  of  the  love-com- 
plaint, have  had  a  serious  attack,  and  suffered  keenly 
for  a  man,  who  had  certainly  a  number  of  the  showy 
qualities  which  Mr.  Huxter  wanted  ? 

"  You  wicked  odious  creature,"  Miss  Blanche  said, 
u  I  believe  that  you  are  enraged  with  Fanny  for  being 
so  impudent  as  to  forget  you,  and  that  you  are  actually 
jealous  of  Mr.  Huxter."  Perhaps  Miss  Amory  was 
right,  as  the  blush  which  came  in  spite  of  himself  and 
tingled  upon  Pendennis's  cheek  (one  of  those  blows 
with  which  a  man's  vanity  is  constantly  slapping  his 
face),  proved  to  Pen  that  he  was  angry  to  think  he 
had  been  superseded  by  such  a  rival.  By  such  a  fel- 
low as  that !  without  any  conceivable  good  quality ! 
Oh,  Mr.  Pendennis !  (although  this  remark  does  not 
aPP]y  to  such  a  smart  fellow  as  you)  if  Nature  had 
not  made  that  provision  for  each  sex  in  the  credulity 
of  the  other,  which  sees  good  qualities  where  none 
exist,  good  looks  in  donkeys'  ears,  wit  in  their  num- 
skulls, and  music  in  their  bray,  there  would  not  have 
been  near  so  much  marrying  and  giving  in  marriage 
as  now  obtains,  and  as  is  necessary  for  the  due  pro* 


218 


PENDENNIS. 


pagation  and  continuance  of  the  noble  race  to  which 

we  belong ! 

"  Jealous  or  not,"  Pen  said,  "  and,  Blanche,  I  don't 
say  no,  I  should  have  liked  Fanny  to  come  to  a  better 
end  than  that.  I  don't  like  histories  that  end  in  that 
cynical  way ;  and  when  we  arrive  at  the  conclusion 
of  the  story  of  a  pretty  girl's  passion,  to  find  such  a 
figure  as  Huxter's  at  the  last  page  of  the  tale.  Is  all 
life  a  compromise,  my  lady  fair,  and  the  end  of  the 
battle  of  love  an  ignoble  surrender  ?  Is  the  search 
for  the  Cupid  which  my  poor  little  Psyche  pursued 
in  the  darkness  —  the  god  of  her  soul's  longing  —  the 
god  of  the  blooming  cheek  and  rainbow  pinions  —  to 
result  in  Huxter,  smelling  of  tobacco  and  galipots  ? 
I  wish,  though  I  don't  see  it  in  life,  that  people  could 
be  like  Jenny  and  Jessamy,  or  my  lord  and  lady 
Clementina  in  the  story-books  and  fashionable  novels, 
and  at  once  under  the  ceremony,  and,  as  it  were,  at 
the  parson's  benediction,  become  perfectly  handsome 
and  good  and  happy  ever  after." 

"  And  don't  you  intend  to  be  good  and  happy,  pray, 
Monsieur  le  Misanthrope  —  and  are  you  very  discon- 
tented with  your  lot  —  and  will  your  marriage  be  a 
compromise  "  —  (asked  the  author  of  "  Mes  Larmes," 
with  a  charming  moue)  —  "  and  is  your  Psyche  an 
odious  vulgar  wretch  ?  You  wicked  satirical  creature, 
I  can't  abide  you!  You  take  the  hearts  of  young 
things,  play  with  them,  and  fling  them  away  with 
scorn.  You  ask  for  love  and  trample  on  it.  You  — 
you  make  me  cry,  that  you  do,  Arthur,  and — and 
don't  —  and  I  worit  be  consoled  in  that  way  —  and  I 
think  Fanny  was  quite  right  in  leaving  such  a  heart- 
less creature." 

"  Again,  I  don't  say  no,"  said  Pen,  looking  very 
gloomily  at  Blanche,  and  not  offering  by  any  means 


PEXDENNIS. 


219 


to  repeat  the  attempt  at  consolation  which  had  elicited 
that  sweet  monosyllable  "  don't "  from  the  young  lady. 
"  I  don't  think  I  have  much  of  what  people  call  heart ; 
but  I  don't  profess  it.  I  made  my  venture  when  I 
was  eighteen,  and  lighted  my  lamp  and  went  in  search 
of  Cupid.  And  what  was  my  discovery  of  love  !  —  a 
vulgar  dancing-woman.  I  failed,  as  everybody  does, 
almost  everybody ;  only  it  is  luckier  to  fail  before 
marriage  than  after." 

"Merci  du  choix,  Monsieur,"  said  the  Sylphide, 
making  a  curtsy. 

"  Look,  my  little  Blanche,"  said  Pen,  taking  her 
hand,  and  with  his  voice  of  sad  good-humor  j  "  at 
least  I  stoop  to  no  flatteries." 

"  Quite  the  contrary,"  said  Miss  Blanche. 

"And  tell  you  no  foolish  lies,  as  vulgar  men  do. 
Why  should  you  and  I,  with  our  experience,  ape  ro- 
mance and  dissemble  passion  ?  I  do  not  believe  Miss 
Blanche  Amory  to  be  peerless  among  the  beautiful, 
nor  the  greatest  poetess,  nor  the  most  surpassing 
musician,  any  more  than  I  believe  you  to  be  the  tallest 
woman  in  the  whole  world  —  like  the  giantess  whose 
picture  we  saw  as  we  rode  through  the  fair  yesterday. 
But  if  I  don't  set  you  up  as  a  heroine,  neither  do  I 
offer  you  your  very  humble  servant  as  a  hero.  But 
I  think  you  are  —  well,  there,  I  think  you  are  very 
sufficiently  good-looking." 

"  3ferci"  Miss  Blanche  said  with  another  curtsy. 

"  I  think  you  sing  charmingly.  I 'm  sure  you  're 
clever.  I  hope  and  believe  that  you  are  good-natured, 
and  that  you  will  be  companionable." 

u  And  so  provided  I  bring  you  a  certain  sum  of 
money  and  a  seat  in  Parliament,  you  condescend  to 
fling  to  me  your  royal  pocket-handkerchief,"  said 
Blanche.    "  Que  d'honneur  I    We  used  to  call  your 


220 


PENDENNIS. 


Highness  the  Prince  of  Eairoaks.  What  an  honor  to 
think  that  I  am  to  be  elevated  to  the  throne,  and  to 
bring  the  seat  in  Parliament  as  backsheesh  to  the 
sultan  !  I  am  glad  I  am  clever,  and  that  I  can  play 
and  sing  to  your  liking;  my  songs  will  amuse  my 
lord's  leisure." 

"And  if  thieves  are  about  the  house,"  said  Pen, 
grimly  pursuing  the  simile,  "  forty  besetting  thieves 
in  the  shape  of  lurking  cares  and  enemies  in  ambush 
and  passions  in  arms,  my  Morgiana  will  dance  round 
me  with  a  tambourine,  and  kill  all  my  rogues  and 
thieves  with  a  smile.  Won't  she  ?  "  But  Pen  looked 
as  if  he  did  not  believe  that  she  would.  "Ah, 
Blanche,"  he  continued  after  a  pause,  "don't  be 
angry ;  don't  be  hurt  at  my  truth-telling.  Don't  you 
see  that  I  always  take  you  at  your  word  ?  You  say 
you  will  be  a  slave  and  dance  —  I  say,  dance.  You 
say,  '  I  take  you  with  what  you  bring  :  *  I  say,  '  I 
take  you  with  what  you  bring.'  To  the  necessary 
deceits  and  hypocrisies  of  our  life,  why  add  any  that 
are  useless  and  unnecessary?  If  I  offer  myself  to 
you  because  I  think  we  have  a  fair  chance  of  being 
happy  together,  and  because  by  your  help  I  may  get 
for  both  of  us  a  good  place  and  a  not  undistinguished 
name,  why  ask  me  to  feign  raptures  and  counterfeit 
romance,  in  which  neither  of  us  believe  ?  Do  you 
want  me  to  come  wooing  in  a  Prince  Prettyman's 
dress  from  the  masquerade  warehouse,  and  to  pay  you 
compliments  like  Sir  Charles  Grandison  ?  Do  you 
want  me  to  make  you  verses  as  in  the  days  when  we 
were  —  when  we  were  children  ?  I  will  if  you  like, 
and  sell  them  to  Bacon  and  Bungay  afterwards. 
Shall  I  feed  my  pretty  princess  with  bonbons  ?  " 

"  Mais  j 'adore  les  bonbons,  moi,"  said  the  little 
Sylphide,  with  a  queer  piteous  look. 


PENDENNIS. 


221 


"  I  can  buy  a  hat  full  at  Fortnum  and  Mason's  for  a 
guinea.  And  it  shall  have  its  bonbons,  its  pootty 
little  sugar-plums,  that  it  shall,"  Pen  said  with  a 
bitter  smile.  "  Nay,  my  dear,  nay  my  dearest  little 
Blanche,  don't  cry.  Dry  the  pretty  eyes,  I  can't  bear 
that;"  and  he  proceeded  to  offer  that  consolation 
which  the  circumstance  required,  and  which  the 
tears,  the  genuine  tears  of  vexation,  which  now  sprang 
from  the  angry  eyes  of  the  author  of  "  Mes  Larmes  " 
demanded. 

The  scornful  and  sarcastic  tone  of  Pendennis  quite 
frightened  and  overcame  the  girl.  "I  —  I  don't  want 
your  consolation.  I  —  I  never  was  —  so  —  spoken  to 
bef  —  by  any  of .  my  —  my  —  by  anybody  "  —  she 
sobbed  out,  with  much  simplicity. 

"Anybody/"  shouted  out  Pen,  with  a  savage  burst 
of  laughter,  and  Blanche  blushed  one  of  the  most 
genuine  blushes  which  her  cheek  had  ever  exhibited, 
and  she  cried  out,  "  Oh,  Arthur,  vous  etes  un  homme 
terrible  !  "  She  felt  bewildered,  frightened,  oppressed, 
the  worldly  little  flirt  who  had  been  playing  at  love 
for  the  last  dozen  years  of  her  life,  and  yet  not  dis- 
pleased at  meeting  a  master. 

"  Tell  me,  Arthur,"  she  said,  after  a  pause  in  this 
strange  love-making,  "why  does  Sir  Francis  Claver- 
ing  give  up  his  seat  in  Parliament  ?  " 

"  Au  fait,  why  does  he  give  it  to  me  ? "  asked 
Arthur,  now  blushing  in  his  turn. 

"  You  always  mock  me,  sir,"  she  said.  "  If  it  is 
good  to  be  in  Parliament,  why  does  Sir  Francis  go 
out  ?  " 

"  My  uncle  has  talked  him  over.  He  always  said 
that  you  were  not  sufficiently  provided  for.  In  the 
—  the  family  disputes,  when  your  mamma  paid  his 
debts  so  liberally,  it  was  stipulated,  I  suppose,  that 


222 


PENDENNIS. 


you  —  that  is,  that  I  —  that  is,  upon  my  word,  I  don't 
know  why  he  goes  out  of  Parliament,"  Pen  said,  with 
rather  a  forced  laugh.  "  You  see,  Blanche,  that  you 
and  I  are  two  good  little  children,  and  that  this 
marriage  has  been  arranged  for  us  by  our  mammas 
and  uncles,  and  that  we  must  be  obedient,  like  a  good 
little  boy  and  girl." 

So,  when  Pen  went  to  London,  he  sent  Blanche  a 
box  of  bonbons,  each  sugar-plum  of  which  was  wrapped 
up  in  ready-made  French  verses,  of  the  most  tender 
kind ;  and,  besides,  despatched  to  her  some  poems  of 
his  own  manufacture,  quite  as  artless  and  authentic ; 
and  it  was  no  wonder  that  he  did  not  tell  Warrington 
what  his  conversations  with  Miss  Amory  had  been,  of 
so  delicate  a  sentiment  were  they,  and  of  a  nature  so 
necessarily  private. 

And  if,  like  many  a  worse  and  better  man,  Arthur 
Pendennis,  the  widow's  son,  was  meditating  an  apos- 
tasy, and  going  to  sell  himself  to  —  we  all  know 
whom,  —  at  least  the  renegade  did  not  pretend  to  be 
a  believer  in  the  creed  to  which  he  was  ready  to 
swear.  And  if  every  woman  and  man  in  this  king- 
dom, who  has  sold  her  or  himself  for  money  or  posi- 
tion, as  Mr.  Pendennis  was  about  to  do,  would  but 
purchase  a  copy  of  his  memoirs,  what  tons  of  volumes 
Messrs.  Smith,  Elder,  and  Co.  would  sell ! 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


IN  WHICH  PEN  BEGINS  HIS  CANVASS. 

Melancholy  as  the  great  house  at  Clavering  Park 
had  been  in  the  days  before  his  marriage,  when  its 
bankrupt  proprietor  was  a  refugee  in  foreign  lands, 
it  was  not  much  more  cheerful  now  when  Sir  Francis 
Clavering  came  to  inhabit  it.  The  greater  part  of  the 
mansion  was  shut  up,  and  the  Baronet  only  occupied 
a  few  of  the  rooms  on  the  ground-floor,  where  his 
housekeeper  and  her  assistant  from  the  lodge-gate 
waited  upon  the  luckless  gentleman  in  his  forced  re- 
treat, and  cooked  a  part  of  the  game  which  he  spent 
the  dreary  mornings  in  shooting.  Lightfoot,  his  man, 
had  passed  over  to  my  Lady's  service;  and,  as  Pen 
was  informed  in  a  letter  from  Mr.  Smirke,  who  per- 
formed the  ceremony,  had  executed  his  prudent  inten- 
tion of  marrying  Mrs.  Bonner,  my  Lady's  woman, 
who,  in  her  mature  years,  was  stricken  with  the 
charms  of  the  youth,  and  endowed  him  with  her 
savings  and  her  elderly  person.  To  be  landlord  and 
landlady  of  the  "  Clavering  Arms  "  was  the  ambition 
of  both  of  them ;  and  it  was  agreed  that  they  were 
to  remain  in  Lady  Clavering's  service  until  quarter- 
day  arrived,  when  they  were  to  take  possession  of 
their  hotel.  Pen  graciously  promised  that  he  would 
give  his  election  dinner  there,  when  the  Baronet 
should  vacate  his  seat  in  the  young  man's  favor ;  and, 
as  it  had  been  agreed  by  his  uncle,  to  whom  Clavering 


224 


PENDENNIS. 


seemed  to  be  able  to  refuse  nothing,  Arthur  came 
down  in  September  on  a  visit  to  Clavering  Park,  the 
owner  of  which  was  very  glad  to  have  a  companion 
who  would  relieve  his  loneliness,  and  perhaps  would 
lend  him  a  little  ready  money. 

Pen  furnished  his  host  with  these  desirable  sup- 
plies a  couple  of  days  after  he  had  made  his  appear- 
ance at  Clavering :  and  no  sooner  were  these  small 
funds  in  Sir  Francis's  pocket,  than  the  latter  found 
he  had  business  at  Chatteris  and  the  neighboring 
watering-places,  of  which  —  shire  boasts  many,  and 
went  off  to  see  to  his  affairs,  which  were  transacted, 
as  might  be  supposed,  at  the  country  race-grounds 
and  billiard-rooms.  Arthur  could  live  alone  well 
enough,  having  many  mental  resources  and  amuse- 
ments which  did  not  require  other  persons'  company : 
he  could  walk  with  the  game-keeper  of  a  morning, 
and  for  the  evenings  there  were  plenty  of  books  and 
occupation  for  a  literary  genius  like  Mr.  Arthur,  who 
required  but  a  cigar  and  a  sheet  of  paper  or  two  to 
make  the  night  pass  away  pleasantly.  In  truth,  in 
two  or  three  days  he  had  found  the  society  of  Sir 
Francis  Clavering  perfectly  intolerable ;  and  it  was 
with  a  mischievous  eagerness  and  satisfaction  that  he 
offered  Clavering  the  little  pecuniary  aid  which  the 
latter  according  to  his  custom  solicited ;  and  supplied 
him  with  the  means  of  taking  flight  from  his  own 
house. 

Besides,  our  ingenious  friend  had  to  ingratiate  him- 
self with  the  townspeople  of  Clavering,  and  with  the 
voters  of  the  borough  which  he  hoped  to  represent ; 
and  he  set  himself  to  this  task  with  only  the  more 
eagerness,  remembering  how  unpopular  he  had  before 
been  in  Clavering,  and  determined  to  vanquish  the 
odium  which  he  had  inspired  amongst  the  simple 


PENDENNIS. 


225 


people  there.  His  sense  of  humor  made  him  delight 
in  this  task.  Naturally  rather  reserved  and  silent  in 
public,  he  became  on  a  sudden  as  frank,  easy,  and 
jovial,  as  Captain  Strong.  He  laughed  with  every- 
body who  would  exchange  a  laugh  with  him,  shook 
hands  right  and  left,  with  what  may  be  certainly 
called  a  dexterous  cordiality  ;  made  his  appearance 
at  the  market-day  and  the  farmers'  ordinary ;  and,  in 
fine,  acted  like  a  consummate  hypocrite,  and  as  gen- 
tlemen of  the  highest  birth  and  most  spotless  integrity 
act  when  they  wish  to  make  themselves  agreeable  to 
their  constituents,  and  have  some  end  to  gain  of  the 
country  folks.  How  is  it  that  we  allow  ourselves  not 
to  be  deceived,  but  to  be  ingratiated  so  readily  by  a 
glib  tongue,  a  ready  laugh,  and  a  frank  manner  ?  We 
know,  for  the  most  part,  that  it  is  false  coin,  and  we 
take  it :  we  know  that  it  is  flattery,  which  it  costs 
nothing  to  distribute  to  everybody,  and  we  had  rather 
have  it  than  be  without  it.  Friend  Pen  went  about 
at  Clavering,  laboriously  simple  and  adroitly  pleased, 
and  quite  a  different  being  from  the  scornful  and 
rather  sulky  young  dandy  whom  the  inhabitants  re- 
membered ten  years  ago. 

The  Rectory  was  shut  up.  Doctor  Portman  was 
gone,  with  his  gout  and  his  family,  to  Harrogate  ;  an 
event  which  Pen  deplored  very  much  in  a  letter  to 
the  Doctor,  in  which,  in  a  few  kind  and  simple  words, 
he  expressed  his  regret  at  not  seeing  his  old  friend, 
whose  advice  he  wanted  and  whose  aid  he  might  re- 
quire some  day :  but  Pen  consoled  himself  for  the 
Doctor's  absence,  by  making  acquaintance  with  Mr. 
Simcoe,  the  opposition  preacher,  and  with  the  two 
partners  of  the  cloth-factory  at  Chatteris,  and  with 
the  independent  preacher  there,  all  of  whom  he  met 
at  the  Clavering  Athenaeum,  which  the  Liberal  party 


226 


FENDENNIS. 


had  set  up  in  accordance  with  the  advanced  spirit  of 
the  age,  and  perhaps  in  opposition  to  the  aristocratic 
old  reading-room,  into  which  the  "  Edinburgh  Review" 
had  once  scarcely  got  an  admission,  and  where  no 
tradesmen  were  allowed  an  entrance.  He  propitiated 
the  younger  partner  of  the  cloth-factory,  by  asking 
him  to  dine  in  a  friendly  way  at  the  Park ;  he  com- 
plimented the  Honorable  Mrs.  Simcoe  with  hares  and 
partridges  from  the  same  quarter,  and  a  request  to 
read  her  husband's  last  sermon  ;  and  being  a  little 
unwell  one  day,  the  rascal  took  advantage  of  the  cir- 
cumstance to  show  his  tongue  to  Mr.  Huxter,  who 
sent  him  medicines  and  called  the  next  morning. 
How  delighted  old  Pendennis  would  have  been  with 
his  pupil !  Pen  himself  was  amused  with  the  sport 
in  which  he  was  engaged,  and  his  success  inspired 
him  with  a  wicked  good-humor. 

And  yet,  as  he  walked  out  of  Clavering  of  a  night, 
after  "  presiding "  at  a  meeting  of  the  Athenaeum, 
or  working  through  an  evening  with  Mrs.  Simcoe, 
who,  with  her  husband,  was  awed  by  the  young  Lon- 
doner's reputation,  and  had  heard  of  his  social  suc- 
cesses ;  as  he  passed  over  the  old  familiar  bridge  of 
the  rushing  Brawl,  and  heard  that  well-remembered 
sound  of  waters  beneath,  and  saw  his  own  cottage  of 
Fairoaks  among  the  trees,  their  darkling  outlines 
clear  against  the  starlit  sky,  different  thoughts  no 
doubt  came  to  the  young  man's  mind,  and  awakened 
pangs  of  grief  and  shame  there.  There  still  used  to 
be  a  light  in  the  windows  of  the  room  which  he  re- 
membered so  well,  and  in  which  the  Saint  who  loved 
him  had  passed  so  many  hours  of  care  and  yearning 
and  prayer.  He  turned  away  his  gaze  from  the  faint 
light  which  seemed  to  pursue  him  with  its  wan  re- 
proachful  gaze,  as  though  it  was  his  mother's  spirit 


PENDENNIS. 


227 


watching  and  warning.  How  clear  the  night  was  ! 
How  keen  the  stars  shone  ;  how  ceaseless  the  rush 
of  the  flowing  waters  ;  the  old  home  trees  whispered, 
and  waved  gently  their  dark  heads  and  branches  over 
the  cottage  roof.  Yonder,  in  the  faint  starlight  glim- 
mer, was  the  terrace  where,  as  a  boy,  he  walked  of 
summer  evenings,  ardent  and  trustful,  unspotted,  un- 
tried, ignorant  of  doubts  or  passions  ;  sheltered  as 
yet  from  the  world's  contamination  in  the  pure  and 
anxious  bosom  of  love.  .  .  .  The  clock  of  the  near 
town  tolling  midnight,  with  a  clang,  disturbs  our 
wanderer's  reverie,  and  sends  him  onwards  towards 
his  night's  resting-place,  through  the  lodge  into  Clav- 
ering  avenue,  and  under  the  dark  arcades  of  the  rus- 
tling limes. 

When  he  sees  the  cottage  the  next  time,  it  is  smil- 
ing in  sunset ;  those  bedroom  windows  are  open  where 
the  light  was  burning  the  night  before ;  and  Pen's 
tenant,  Captain  Stokes,  of  the  Bombay  Artillery 
(whose  mother,  old  Mrs.  Stokes,  lives  in  Clavering), 
receives  his  landlord's  visit  with  great  cordiality  ; 
shows  him  over  the  grounds  and  the  new  pond  he 
has  made  in  the  back  garden  from  the  stables ;  talks 
to  him  confidentially  about  the  roof  and  chimneys, 
and  begs  Mr.  Pendennis  to  name  a  day  when  he  will 
do  himself  and  Mrs.  Stokes  the  pleasure  to,  etc.  Pen, 
who  has  been  a  fortnight  in  the  country,  excuses  him- 
self for  not  having  called  sooner  upon  the  Captain  by 
frankly  owning  that  he  had  not  the  heart  to  do  it. 
*  I  understand  you,  sir,"  the  Captain  says  ;  and  Mrs. 
Stokes,  who  had  slipped  away  at  the  ring  of  the  bell 
(how  odd  it  seemed  to  Pen  to  ring  the  bell !),  comes 
down  in  her  best  gown,  surrounded  by  her  children. 
The  young  ones  clamber  about  Stokes  :  the  boy  jumps 
into  an  arm-chair.    It  was  Pen's  father's  arm-chair ; 


228 


PENDENNIS. 


and  Arthur  remembers  the  days  when  he  would  as 
soon  have  thought  of  mounting  the  king's  throne  as 
of  seating  himself  in  that  arm-chair.  He  asks  Miss 
Stokes  —  she  is  the  very  image  of  her  mamma  —  if 
she  can  play  ?  He  should  like  to  hear  a  tune  on  that 
piano.  She  plays.  He  hears  the  notes  of  the  old 
piano  once  more,  enfeebled  by  age,  but  he  does  not 
listen  to  the  player.  He  is  listening  to  Laura's  sing- 
ing as  in  the  days  of  their  youth,  and  sees  his  mother 
bending  and  beating  time  over  the  shoulder  of  the 
girl. 

The  dinner  at  Fairoaks  given  in  Pen's  honor  by  his 
tenant,  and  at  which  old  Mrs.  Stokes,  Captain  Gland- 
ers, Squire  Hobnell,  and  the  clergyman  and  his  lady, 
from  Tinckleton,  were  present,  was  very  stupid  and 
melancholy  for  Pen,  until  the  waiter  from  Clavering 
(who  aided  the  Captain's  stable-boy  and  Mrs.  Stokes's 
butler)  whom  Pen  remembered  as  a  street  boy,  and 
who  was  now  indeed  barber  in  that  place,  dropped  a 
plate  over  Pen's  shoulder,  on  which  Mr.  Hobnell  (who 
also  employed  him)  remarked,  "  I  suppose,  Hodson, 
your  hands  are  slippery  with  bear's-grease.  He 's 
always  dropping  the  crockery  about,  that  Hodson  is 
—  haw,  haw  !  "  On  which  Hodson  blushed,  and 
looked  so  disconcerted,  that  Pen  burst  out  laughing ; 
and  good-humor  and  hilarity  were  the  order  of  the 
evening.  For  the  second  course,  there  was  a  hare 
and  partridges  top  and  bottom,  and  when  after  the 
withdrawal  of  the  servants  Pen  said  to  the  Vicar  of 
Tinckleton,  "I  think,  Mr.  Stooks,  you  should  have 
asked  Hodson  to  cut  the  hare"  the  joke  was  taken 
instantly  by  the  clergyman,  who  was  followed  in  the 
course  of  a  few  minutes  by  Captain  Stokes  and  Gland- 
ers, and  by  Mr.  Hobnell,  who  arrived  rather  late,  but 
with  an  immense  guffaw. 


PENDENNIS. 


229 


While  Mr.  Pen  was  engaged  in  the  country  in  the 
above  schemes,  it  happened  that  the  lady  of  his 
choice,  if  not  of  his  affections,  came  up  to  London 
from  the  Tunbridge  villa  bound  upon  shopping  expe- 
ditions or  important  business,  and  in  company  of  old 
Mrs.  Bonner,  her  mother's  maid,  who  had  lived  and 
quarrelled  with  Blanche  many  times  since  she  was  an 
infant,  and  who  now  being  about  to  quit  Lady  Cover- 
ing's service  for  the  hymeneal  state,  was  anxious  like 
a  good  soul  to  bestow  some  token  of  respectful  kind- 
ness upon  her  old  and  young  mistress  before  she 
quitted  them  altogether,  to  take  her  post  as  the 
wife  of  Lightfoot,  and  landlady  of  the  "  Clavering 
Arms." 

The  honest  woman  took  the  benefit  of  Miss  Amory's 
taste  to  make  the  purchase  which  she  intended  to 
offer  her  ladyship;  and  requested  the  fair  Blanche 
to  choose  something  for  herself  that  should  be  to  her 
liking,  and  remind  her  of  her  old  nurse  who  had  at- 
tended her  through  many  a  wakeful  night,  and  event- 
ful teething,  and  childish  fever,  and  who  loved  her 
like  a  child  of  her  own  a'most.  These  purchases  were 
made,  and  as  the  nurse  insisted  on  buying  an  immense 
Bible  for  Blanche,  the  young  lady  suggested  that 
Bonner  should  purchase  a  large  "Johnson's  Diction- 
ary "  for  her  mamma.  Each  of  the  two  women  might 
certainly  profit  by  the  present  made  to  her. 

Then  Mrs.  Bonner  invested  money  in  some  bargains 
in  linen-drapery,  which  might  be  useful  at  the  "  Clav- 
ering Arms,"  and  bought  a  red  and  yellow  neck- 
handkerchief,  which  Blanche  could  see  at  once  was 
intended  for  Mr.  Lightfoot.  Younger  than  herself 
by  at  least  five-and-twenty  years,  Mrs.  Bonner  re- 
garded that  youth  with  a  fondness  at  once  parental 
and  conjugal,  and  loved  to  lavish  ornaments  on  his 


230 


PENDENNIS. 


person,  which  already  glittered  with  Dins,  rings,  shirt- 
studs,  and  chains  and  seals,  purchased  at  the  good 
creature's  expense. 

It  was  in  the  Strand  that  Mrs.  Bonner  made  her 
purchases,  aided  by  Miss  Blanche,  who  liked  the  fun 
very  well,  and  when  the  old  lady  had  bought  every- 
thing that  she  desired,  and  was  leaving  the  shop, 
Blanche,  with  a  smiling  face,  and  a  sweet  bow  to  one 
of  the  shopmen,  said,  "  Pray,  sir,  will  you  have  the 
kindness  to  show  us  the  way  to  Shepherd's  Inn." 

Shepherd's  Inn  was  but  a  few  score  of  yards  off, 
Oldcastle  Street  was  close  by,  the  elegant  young  shop- 
man pointed  out  the  turning  which  the  young  lady 
was  to  take,  and  she  and  her  companion  walked  off 
together. 

"Shepherd's  Inn!  what  can  you  want  in  Shep- 
herd's Inn,  Miss  Blanche  ?  "  Bonner  inquired.  "  Mr. 
Strong  lives  there.  Do  you  want  to  go  and  see  the 
Captain  ?  " 

"  I  should  like  to  see  the  Captain  very  well.  I  like 
the  Captain ;  but  it  is  not  him  I  want.  I  want  to  see 
a  dear  little  good  girl,  who  was  very  kind  to  —  to  Mr. 
Arthur  when  he  was  so  ill  last  year,  and  saved  his 
life  almost ;  and  I  want  to  thank  her,  and  ask  her  if 
she  would  like  anything.  I  looked  out  several  of  my 
dresses  on  purpose  this  morning,  Bonner ! "  and  she 
looked  at  Bonner  as  if  she  had  a  right  to  admiration, 
and  had  performed  an  act  of  remarkable  virtue. 
Blanche,  indeed,  was  very  fond  of  sugar-plums ;  she 
would  have  fed  the  poor  upon  them,  when  she  had 
had  enough,  and  given  a  country -girl  a  ball-dress  when 
she  had  worn  it  and  was  tired  of  it. 

"  Pretty  girl  —  pretty  young  woman  !  "  mumbled 
Mrs.  Bonner.  "  I  know  2"  want  no  pretty  young 
women  to  come  about  Lightfoot,"  and  in  imagination 


PENDENNIS. 


231 


she  peopled  the  "  Clavering  Arms  "  with  a  harem  of 
the  most  hideous  chambermaids  and  barmaids. 

Blanche,  with  pink  and  blue,  and  feathers,  and 
flowers,  and  trinkets,  and  a  shot  silk  dress,  and  a 
wonderful  mantle,  and  a  charming  parasol,  presented 
a  vision  of  elegance  and  beauty  such  as  bewildered 
the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Bolton,  who  was  scrubbing  the  lodge- 
floor  of  Shepherd's  Inn,  and  caused  Betsy-Jane  and 
Ameliar-Ann  to  look  with  delight. 

Blanche  looked  on  them  with  a  smile  of  ineffable 
sweetness  and  protection;  like  Rowena  going  to  see 
Rebecca;  like  Marie  Antoinette  visiting  the  poor  in 
the  famine ;  like  the  Marchioness  of  Carabas  alight- 
ing from  her  carriage  and  four  at  a  pauper-tenant's 
door,  and  taking  from  John  No.  II.,  the  packet  of 
Epsom  salts  for  the  invalid's  benefit,  carrying  it  with 
her  own  imperial  hand  into  the  sick-room  —  Blanche 
felt  a  queen  stepping  down  from  her  throne  to  visit  a 
subject,  and  enjoyed  all  the  bland  consciousness  of 
doing  a  good  action. 

"  My  good  woman  !  I  want  to  see  Fanny  —  Fanny 
Bolton ;  is  she  here  ?  " 

Mrs.  Bolton  had  a  sudden  suspicion,  from  the  splen- 
dor of  Blanche's  appearance,  that  it  must  be  a  play- 
actor, or  something  worse. 

"  What  do  you  want  with  Fanny,  pray  ? "  she 
asked. 

"  I  am  Lady  Clavering's  daughter  —  you  have  heard 
of  Sir  Francis  Clavering  ?  And  I  wish  very  much 
indeed  to  see  Fanny  Bolton." 

"Pray  step  in,  Miss  —  Betsy- Jane,  where 's  Fann}^  ?  " 

Betsy- Jane  said  Fanny  had  gone  into  No.  3  stair- 
case, on  which  Mrs.  Bolton  said  she  was  probably  in 
Strong's  rooms,  and  bade  the  child  go  and  see  if  she 
was  there. 


232 


PENDENNIS. 


"  In  Captain  Strong's  rooms  !  oh,  let  us  go  to  Cap* 
tain  Strong's  rooms,"  cried  out  Miss  Blanche.  "  I 
know  him  very  well.  You  dearest  little  girl,  show 
us  the  way  to  Captain  Strong !  "  cried  out  Miss 
Blanche,  for  the  floor  reeked  with  the  recent  scrub- 
bing, and  the  goddess  did  not  like  the  smell  of 
brown-soap. 

And  as  they  passed  up  the  stairs,  a  gentleman  by 
the  name  of  Costigan,  who  happened  to  be  swagger- 
ing about  the  court,  and  gave  a  knowing  look  with  his 
"  oi "  under  Blanche's  bonnet,  remarked  to  himself, 
"  That 's  a  devilish  f oine  gyurll,  bedad,  goan  up  to 
Sthrong  and  Altamont :  they  're  always  having  f  oine 
gyurlls  up  their  stairs." 

"  Hallo  !  hwhat 's  that  ?  "  he  presently  said,  look- 
ing up  at  the  windows  :  from  which  some  piercing 
shrieks  issued. 

At  the  sound  of  the  voice  of  a  distressed  female  the 
intrepid  Cos  rushed  up  the  stairs  as  fast  as  his  old  legs 
would  carry  him,  being  nearly  overthrown  by  Strong's 
servant,  who  was  descending  the  stair.  Cos  found 
the  outer  door  of  Strong's  chambers  open,  and  began 
to  thunder  at  the  knocker.  After  many  and  fierce 
knocks,  the  inner  door  was  partially  unclosed,  and 
Strong's  head  appeared. 

"  It 's  oi,  me  boy.  Hwhat 's  that  noise,  Sthrong  ?  " 
asked  Costigan. 

"  Go  to  the  d —  "  was  the  only  answer,  and  the  door 
was  shut  on  Cos's  venerable  red  nose  :  and  he  went 
down  stairs  muttering  threats  at  the  indignity  offered 
to  him,  and  vowing  that  he  would  have  satisfaction. 
In  the  meanwhile  the  reader,  more  lucky  than  Cap- 
tain Costigan,  will  have  the  privilege  of  being  made 
acquainted  with  the  secret  which  was  withheld  from 
that  officer. 


PENDENNIS. 


233 


It  has  been  said  of  how  generous  a  disposition  Mr. 
Altamont  was,  and  when  he  was  well  supplied  with 
funds,  how  liberally  he  spent  them.  Of  a  hospitable 
turn,  he  had  no  greater  pleasure  than  drinking  in 
company  with  other  people ;  so  that  there  was  no  man 
more  welcome  at  Greenwich  and  Richmond  than  the 
Emissary  of  the  Nawaub  of  Lucknow. 

Now  it  chanced  that  on  the  day  when  Blanche  and 
Mrs.  Bonner  ascended  the  staircase  to  Strong's  room 
in  Shepherd's  Inn,  the  Colonel  had  invited  Miss  Dela- 

val  of  the  Theatre  Royal,  and  her  mother,  Mrs. 

Hodge,  to  a  little  party  down  the  river,  and  it  had 
been  agreed  that  they  were  to  meet  at  Chambers,  and 
thence  walk  down  to  a  port  in  the  neighboring  Strand 
to  take  water.  So  that  when  Mrs.  Bonner  and  Mes 
Larmes  came  to  the  door,  where  Grady,  Altamont's 
servant,  was  standing,  the  domestic  said,  "Walk  in, 
ladies,"  with  the  utmost  affability,  and  led  them  into 
the  room,  which  was  arranged  as  if  they  had  been  ex- 
pected there.  Indeed,  two  bouquets  of  flowers,  bought 
at  Covent  Garden  that  morning,  and  instances  of  the 
tender  gallantry  of  Altamont,  were  awaiting  his  guests 
upon  the  table.  Blanche  smelt  at  the  bouquet,  and 
put  her  pretty  little  dainty  nose  into  it,  and  tripped 
about  the  room,  and  looked  behind  the  curtains,  and  at 
the  books  and  prints,  and  at  the  plan  of  Clavering 
estate  hanging  up  on  the  wall ;  and  had  asked  the  ser- 
vant for  Captain  Strong,  and  had  almost  forgotten  his 
existence  and  the  errand  about  which  she  had  come, 
namely,  to  visit  Fanny  Bolton  ;  so  pleased  was  she 
with  the  new  adventure,  and  the  odd,  strange,  delight- 
ful, droll  little  idea  of  being  in  a  bachelor's  chambers 
in  a  queer  old  place  in  the  City ! 

Grady  meanwhile,  with  a  pair  of  ample  varnished 
boots,  had  disappeared  into  his  master's  room.  Blanche 


234 


PENDENNIS. 


had  hardly  the  leisure  to  remark  how  big  the  boots 

were,  and  how  unlike  Mr.  Strong's, 

"  The  women 's  come,"  said  Grady,  helping  his  mas- 
ter to  the  boots. 

"  Did  you  ask  'em  if  they  would  take  a  glass  of  any- 
thing ? 99  asked  Altamont. 

Grady  came  out  —  "  He  says,  will  you  take  anything 
to  drink  ? 99  the  domestic  asked  of  them ;  at  which 
Blanche,  amused  with  the  artless  question,  broke  out 
into  a  pretty  little  laugh,  and  asked  of  Mrs.  Bonner, 
"  Shall  we  take  anything  to  drink  ?  " 

"Well,  you  may  take  it  or  lave  it,"  said  Mr.  Grady, 
who  thought  his  offer  slighted,  and  did  not  like  the 
contemptuous  manners  of  the  new-comers,  and  so  left 
them. 

"  Will  we  take  anything  to  drink  ?  99  Blanche  asked 
again :  and  again  began  to  laugh. 

"  Grady,"  bawled  out  a  voice  from  the  chamber 
within :  —  a  voice  that  made  Mrs.  Bonner  start. 

Grady  did  not  answer:  his  song  was  heard  from 
afar  off,  from  the  kitchen,  his  upper  room,  where 
Grady  was  singing  at  his  work. 

"  Grady,  my  coat ! "  again  roared  the  voice  from 
within. 

"Why,  that  is  not  Mr.  Strong's  voice,"  said  the 
Sylphide,  still  half  laughing.  "  Grady  my  coat !  — 
Bonner,  who  is  Grady  my  coat?  We  ought  to  go 
away." 

Bonner  still  looked  quite  puzzled  at  the  sound  of 
the  voice  which  she  had  heard. 

The  bedroom  door  here  opened,  and  the  individual 
who  had  called  out  u  Grady,  my  coat,"  appeared 
without  the  garment  in  question. 

He  nodded  to  the  women,  and  walked  across  the 
room.    "  I  beg  your  pardon,  ladies.    Grady,  bring 


A  Recognition. 


PENDENNIS. 


235 


my  coat  down,  sir  !  Well,  my  dears,  it 's  a  fine  day, 
and  we  '11  have  a  jolly  lark  at  —  " 

He  said  no  more  ;  for  here  Mrs.  Bonner,  who  had 
been  looking  at  him  with  scared  eyes,  suddenly 
shrieked  out,  "  Amory !  Amory ! "  and  fell  back 
screaming  and  fainting  in  her  chair. 

The  man,  so  apostrophized,  looked  at  the  woman 
an  instant,  and,  rushing  up  to  Blanche,  seized  her 
and  kissed  her  "  Yes,  Betsy,"  he  said,  "  by  G —  it 
is  me.  Mary  Bonner  knew  me.  What  a  fine  gal 
we  Ve  grown !  But  it 's  a  secret,  mind.  I 'm  dead, 
though  I 'm  your  father.  Your  poor  mother  don't 
know  it.  What  a  pretty  gal  we 've  grown  !  Kiss  me 
—  kiss  me  close,  my  Betsy  !  D —  it,  I  love  you :  I 'm 
your  old  father." 

Betsy  or  Blanche  looked  quite  bewildered,  and  be- 
gan to  scream  too  —  once,  twice,  thrice ;  and  it  was 
her  piercing  shrieks  which  Captain  Gostigan  heard  as 
he  walked  the  court  below. 

At  the  sound  of  these  shrieks  the  perplexed  parent 
clasped  his  hands  (his  wristbands  were  open,  and  on 
one  brawny  arm  you  could  see  letters  tattooed  in 
blue),  and,  rushing  to  his  apartment,  came  back  with 
an  eau-de-Cologne  bottle  from  his  grand  silver  dress- 
ing-case, with  the  fragrant  contents  of  which  he  be- 
gan liberally  to  sprinkle  Bonner  and  Blanche. 

The  screams  of  these  women  brought  the  other 
occupants  of  the  chambers  into  the  room :  Grady 
from  his  kitchen,  and  Strong  from  his  apartment  in 
the  upper  story.  The  latter  at  once  saw  from  the 
aspect  of  the  two  women  what  had  occurred. 

"  Grady,  go  and  wait  in  the  court,"  he  said,  u  and 
if  anybody  comes  —  you  understand  me." 

"  Is  it  the  play-actress  and  her  mother  ? "  said 
Grady. 


236 


PENDENNIS. 


"  Yes  —  confound  you  —  say  that  there 's  nobody 
in  chambers,  and  the  party's  off  for  to-day." 

"  Shall  I  say  that,  sir  ?  and  after  I  bought  them 
bokays  ?  "  asked  Grady  of  his  master. 

"  Yes,"  said  Amory,  with  a  stamp  of  his  foot ;  and 
Strong  going  to  the  door,  too,  reached  it  just  in  time 
to  prevent  the  entrance  of  Captain  Costigan,  who  had 
mounted  the  stair. 

The  ladies  from  the  theatre  did  not  have  their  treat 
to  Greenwich,  nor  did  Blanche  pay  her  visit  to  Fanny 
Bolton  on  that  day.  And  Cos,  who  took  occasion 
majestically  to  inquire  of  Grady  what  the  mischief 
was,  and  who  was  crying  ?  —  had  for  answer  that 
't  was  a  woman,  another  of  them,  and  that  they  were, 
in  Grady's  opinion,  the  cause  of  'most  all  the  mischief 
in  the  world. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


IN  WHICH  PEN  BEGINS  TO  DOUBT  HIS  ELECTION. 

Whilst  Pen,  in  his  own  country,  was  thus  carry- 
ing on  his  selfish  plans  and  parliamentary  schemes, 
news  came  to  him  that  Lady  Rock  minster  had  ar- 
rived at  Baymouth,  and  had  brought  with  her  our 
friend  Laura.  At  the  announcement  that  Laura  his 
sister  was  near  him,  Pen  felt  rather  guilty.  His 
wish  was  to  stand  higher  in  her  esteem,  perhaps,  than 
in  that  of  any  other  person  in  the  world.  She  was 
his  mother's  legacy  to  him.  He  was  to  be  her  patron 
and  protector  in  some  sort.  How  would  she  brave 
the  news  which  he  had  to  tell  her ;  and  how  should 
he  explain  the  plans  which  he  was  meditating  ?  He 
felt  as  if  neither  he  nor  Blanche  could  bear  Laura's 
dazzling  glance  of  calm  scrutiny,  and  as  if  he  would 
not  dare  to  disclose  his  worldly  hopes  and  ambitions 
to  that  spotless  judge.  At  her  arrival  at  Baymouth, 
he  wrote  a  letter  thither  which  contained  a  great 
number  of  fine  phrases  and  protests  of  affection,  and 
a  great  deal  of  easy  satire  and  raillery ;  in  the  midst 
of  all  which  Mr.  Pen  could-  not  help  feeling  that  he 
was  in  a  panic,  and  that  he  was  acting  like  a  rogue 
and  hypocrite. 

How  was  it  that  a  simple  country-girl  should  be 
the  object  of  fear  and  trembling  to  such  an  accom- 
plished gentleman  as  Mr.  Pen  ?  His  worldly  tactics 
and  diplomacy,  his  satire  and  knowledge  of  the  world, 
could  not  bear  the  test  of  her  purity,  he  felt  somehow. 


238 


PENDENNIS. 


And  he  had  to  own  to  himself  that  his  affairs  were 
in  such  a  position,  that  he  could  not  tell  the  truth  to 
that  honest  soul.  As  he  rode  from  Clavering  to  Bay- 
mouth  he  felt  as  guilty  as  a  school-boy,  who  does  n't 
know  his  lesson  and  is  about  to  face  the  awful  master. 
For  is  not  truth  the  master  always,  and  does  she  not 
have  the  power  and  hold  the  book  ? 

Under  the  charge  of  her  kind,  though  somewhat 
wayward  and  absolute  patroness,  Lady  Eockminster, 
Laura  had  seen  somewhat  of  the  world  in  the  last 
year,  had  gathered  some  accomplishments,  and  prof- 
ited by  the  lessons  of  society.  Many  a  girl  who  had 
been  accustomed  to  that  too  great  tenderness  in  which 
Laura's  early  life  had  been  passed,  would  have  been 
unfitted  for  the  changed  existence  which  she  now  had 
to  lead.  Helen  worshipped  her  two  children,  and 
thought,  as  home-bred  women  will,  that  all  the  world 
was  made  for  them,  or  to  be  considered  after  them. 
She  tended  Laura  with  a  watchfulness  of  affection 
which  never  left  her.  If  she  had  a  headache,  the 
widow  was  as  alarmed  as  if  there  never  had  been  an 
aching  head  before  in  the  world.  She  slept  and  woke, 
read,  and  moved  under  her  mother's  fond  superin- 
tendence, which  was  now  withdrawn  from  her,  along 
with  the  tender  creature  whose  anxious  heart  would 
beat  no  more.  And  painful  moments  of  grief  and 
depression  no  doubt  Laura  had,  when  she  stood  in 
the  great  careless  world  alone.  Nobody  heeded  her 
griefs  or  her  solitude.  She  was  not  quite  the  equal, 
in  social  rank,  of  the  lady  whose  companion  she  was, 
or  of  the  friends  and  relatives  of  the  imperious,  but 
kind  old  dowager.  Some  very  likely  bore  her  no 
good-will  —  some,  perhaps,  slighted  her :  it  might 
have  been  that  servants  were  occasionally  rude ;  their 
mistress  certainly  was  often.    Laura  not  seldom  found 


PENDENNIS. 


239 


herself  in  family  meetings,  the  confidence  and  famil- 
iarity of  which  she  felt  were  interrupted  by  her  intru- 
sion ;  and  her  sensitiveness  of  course  was  wounded  at 
the  idea  that  she  should  give  or  feel  this  annoyance. 
How  many  governesses  are  there  in  the  world, 
thought  cheerful  Laura,  —  how  many  ladies,  whose 
necessities  make  them  slaves  and  companions  by  pro- 
fession !  What  bad  tempers  and  coarse  unkindness 
have  not  these  to  encounter !  How  infinitely  better 
my  lot  is  with  these  really  kind  and  affectionate 
people  than  that  of  thousands  of  unprotected  girls  ! 
It  was  with  this  cordial  spirit  that  our  young  lady 
adapted  herself  to  her  new  position ;  and  went  in 
advance  of  her  fortune  with  a  trustful  smile. 

Did  you  ever  know  a  person  who  met  Fortune  in 
that  way,  whom  the  goddess  did  not  regard  kindly  ? 
Are  not  even  bad  people  won  by  a  constant  cheerful- 
ness and  a  pure  and  affectionate  heart  ?  When  the 
babes  in  the  wood,  in  the  ballad,  looked  up  fondly 
and  trustfully  at  those  notorious  rogues  whom  their 
uncle  had  set  to  make  away  with  the  little  folks,  we 
all  know  how  one  of  the  rascals  relented,  and  made 
away  with  the  other  —  not  having  the  heart  to  be 
cruel  to  so  much  innocence  and  beauty.  Oh,  happy 
they  who  have  that  virgin  loving  trust  and  sweet 
smiling  confidence  in  the  world,  and  fear  no  evil 
because  they  think  none  !  Miss  Laura  Bell  was  one 
of  these  fortunate  persons ;  and  besides  the  gentle 
widow's  little  cross,  which,  as  we  have  seen,  Pen  gave 
her,  had  such  a  sparkling  and  brilliant  Kohinoor  in 
her  bosom,  as  is  even  more  precious  than  that  famous 
jewel ;  for  it  not  only  fetches  a  price,  and  is  retained 
by  its  owner  m  another  world  where  diamonds  are 
stated  to  be  of  no  value,  but  here,  too,  is  of  ines- 
timable worth  to  its  possessor  j  is  a  talisman  against 


240 


PENDENNIS. 


evil,  and  lightens  up  the  darkness  of  life,  like  Cogia 
Hassan's  famous  stone. 

So  that  before  Miss  Bell  had  been  a  year  in  Lady 
Rockminster's  house,  there  was  not  a  single  person  in 
it  whose  love  she  had  not  won  by  the  use  of  this 
talisman.  From  the  old  lady  to  the  lowest  dependent 
of  her  bounty,  Laura  had  secured  the  good-will  of 
everybody.  With  a  mistress  of  such  a  temper,  my 
Lady's  woman  (who  had  endured  her  mistress  for 
forty  years,  and  had  been  clawed  and  scolded  and 
jibed  every  day  and  night  in  that  space  of  time)  could 
not  be  expected  to  have  a  good  temper  of  her  own ; 
and  was  at  first  angry  against  Miss  Laura,  as  she  had 
been  against  her  ladyship's  fifteen  preceding  com- 
panions. But  when  Laura  was  ill  at  Paris,  this  old 
woman  nursed  her  in  spite  of  her  mistress,  who  was 
afraid  of  catching  the  fever,  and  absolutely  fought 
for  her  medicine  with  Martha  from  Fairoaks,  now 
advanced  to  be  Miss  Laura's  own  maid.  As  she  was 
recovering,  Grandjean  the  chef  wanted  to  kill  her  by 
the  number  of  delicacies  which  he  dressed  for  her, 
and  wept  when  she  ate  her  first  slice  of  chicken. 
The  Swiss  major-domo  of  the  house  celebrated  Miss 
Bell's  praises  in  almost  every  European  language, 
which  he  spoke  with  indifferent  incorrectness  ;  the 
coachman  was  happy  to  drive  her  out ;  the  page  cried 
when  he  heard  she  was  ill ;  and  Calverley  and  Cold- 
stream (those  two  footmen,  so  large,  so  calm  ordi- 
narily, and  so  difficult  to  move)  broke  out  into 
extraordinary  hilarity  at  the  news  of  her  convales- 
cence, and  intoxicated  the  page  at  a  wine-shop,  to  fete 
Laura's  recovery.  Even  Lady  Diana  Pynsent  (our 
former  acquaintance  Mr.  Pynsent  had  married  by  this 
time),  who  had  had  a  considerable  dislike  to  Laura 
for  some  time,  was  so  enthusiastic  as  to  say  that  she 


PENDENNIS. 


241 


thought  Miss  Bell  was  a  very  agreeable  person,  and 
that  grandmamma  had  a  great  trouvaille  in  her.  All 
this  kindness  Laura  had  acquired,  not  by  any  arts, 
not  by  any  flattery,  but  by  the  simple  force  of  good- 
nature, and  by  the  blessed  gift  of  pleasing  and  being 
pleased. 

On  the  one  or  two  occasions  when  he  had  seen 
Lady  Kockminster,  the  old  lady,  who  did  not  admire 
him,  had  been  very  pitiless  and  abrupt  with  our 
young  friend,  and  perhaps  Pen  expected  when  he 
came  to  Baymouth  to  find  Laura  installed  in  her 
house  in  the  quality  of  humble  companion,  and 
treated  no  better  than  himself.  When  she  heard 
of  his  arrival  she  came  running  down  stairs,  and  I 
am  not  sure  that  she  did  not  embrace  him  in  the 
presence  of  Calverley  and  Coldstream  :  not  that  those 
gentlemen  ever  told :  if  the  fractus  orbis  had  come  to 
a  smash,  if  Laura,  instead  of  kissing  Pen,  had  taken 
her  scissors  and  snipped  off  his  head  —  Calverley  and 
Coldstream  would  have  looked  on  impavidly,  without 
allowing  a  grain  of  powder  to  be  disturbed  by  the 
calamity. 

Laura  had  so  much  improved  in  health  and  looks 
that  Pen  could  not  but  admire  her.  The  frank  eyes 
which  met  his  beamed  with  good  health ;  the  cheek 
which  he  kissed  blushed  with  beauty.  As  he  looked 
at  her,  artless  and  graceful,  pure  and  candid,  he 
thought  he  had  never  seen  her  so  beautiful.  Why 
should  he  remark  her  beauty  now  so  much,  and 
remark  too  to  himself  that  he  had  not  remarked  it 
sooner  ?  He  took  her  fair  trustful  hand  and  kissed 
it  fondly  :  he  looked  in  her  bright  clear  eyes,  and 
read  in  them  that  kindling  welcome  which  he  was 
always  sure  to  find  there.  He  was  affected  and 
touched  by  the  tender  tone  and  the  pure  sparkling 


242 


PENDENNIS. 


glance ;  their  innocence  smote  him  somehow  and 
moved  him. 

"How  good  you  are  to  me,  Laura  —  sister!"  said 
Pen.  "  I  don't  deserve  that  you  should  —  that  you 
should  be  so  kind  to  me." 

"  Mamma  left  you  to  me,"  she  said,  stooping  down 
and   brushing  his  forehead  with  her  lips  hastily. 

"You  know  you  were  to  come  to  me  when  you 
were  in  trouble,  or  to  tell  me  when  you  were  very 
happy  :  that  was  our  compact,  Arthur,  last  year,  be- 
fore we  parted.  Are  you  very  happy  now,  or  are  you 
in  trouble,  which  is  it  ?  "  and  she  looked  at  him  with 
an  arch  glance.  "Do  you  like  going  into  Parlia- 
ment ?  Do  you  intend  to  distinguish  yourself  there  ? 
How  I  shall  tremble  for  your  first  speech  ! " 

"  Do  you  know  about  the  Parliament  plan,  then  ?  " 
Pen  asked. 

"  Know  ?  —  all  the  world  knovfls !  I  have  heard  it 
talked  about  many  times.  Lady  Hockminster's  doc- 
tor talked  about  it  to-day.  I  dare  say  it  will  be  in 
the  Chatteris  paper  to-morrow.  It  is  all  over  the 
county  that  Sir  Francis  Clavering,  of  Clavering,  is  go- 
ing to  retire,  in  behalf  of  Mr.  Arthur  Pendennis,  of 
Fairoaks ;  and  that  the  young  and  beautiful  Miss 
Blanche  Amory  is  —  " 

"  What !  that  too  ?  "  asked  Pendennis. 

"That,  too,  dear  Arthur.  Tout  se  sait,  as  some- 
body would  say,  whom  I  intend  to  be  very  fond  of ; 
and  who  I  am  sure  is  very  clever  and  pretty.  I  have 
had  a  letter  from  Blanche.  The  kindest  of  letters. 
She  speaks  so  warmly  of  you,  Arthur !  I  hope  —  I 
know  she  feels  what  she  writes.  —  When  is  it  to  be, 
Arthur  ?  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  ?  I  may  come 
and  live  with  you  then,  may  n't  I  ?  " 

"  My  home  is  yours,  dear  Laura,  and  everything  I 


PENDENNIS. 


243 


have,"  Pen  said.  "  If  I  did  not  tell  you,  it  was  be- 
cause —  because  —  I  do  not  know  :  nothing  is  decided 
yet.  No  words  have  passed  between  us.  But  you 
think  Blanche  could  be  happy  with  me  —  don't  you  ? 
Not  a  romantic  fondness,  you  know.  I  have  no  heart, 
I  think ;  I  Ve  told  her  so  :  only  a  sober-sided  attach- 
ment :  — and  want  my  wife  on  one  side  of  the  lire  and 
my  sister  on  the  other,  —  Parliament  in  the  session 
and  Fairoaks  in  the  holidays,  and  my  Laura  never  to 
leave  me  until  somebody  who  has  a  right  comes  to 
take  her  away." 

Somebody  who  has  a  right  —  somebody  with  a 
right!  Why  did  Pen,  as  he  looked  at  the  girl  and 
slowly  uttered  the  words,  begin  to  feel  angry  and 
jealous  of  the  invisible  somebody  with  the  right  to 
take  her  away  ?  Anxious,  but  a  minute  ago,  how  she 
would  take  the  news  regarding  his  probable  arrange- 
ments with  Blanche,  Pen  was  hurt  somehow  that  she 
received  the  intelligence  so  easily,  and  took  his  hap- 
piness for  granted. 

"  Until  somebody  comes,"  Laura  said,  with  a  laugh, 
"  I  will  stay  at  home  and  be  Aunt  Laura,  and  take 
care  of  the  children  when  Blanche  is  in  the  world.  I 
have  arranged  it  all.  I  am  an  excellent  housekeeper. 
Do  you  know  I  have  been  to  market  at  Paris  with 
Mrs.  Beck,  and  have  taken  some  lessons  from  M. 
Grandjean  ?  And  I  have  had  some  lessons  in  Paris 
in  singing  too,  with  the  money  which  you  sent  me, 
you  kind  boy :  and  I  can  sing  much  better  now :  and 
I  have  learned  to  dance,  though  not  so  well  as 
Blanche,  and  when  you  become  a  Minister  of  State, 
Blanche  shall  present  me  : "  and  with  this,  and  with 
a  provoking  good-humor,  she  performed  for  him  the 
last  Parisian  curtsy. 

Lady  Rockminster  came  in  whilst  this  curtsy  was 


244 


PENDENNIS. 


being  performed,  and  gave  to  Arthur  one  finger  to 
shake ;  which  he  took,  and  over  which  he  bowed  as 
well  as  he  could,  which,  in  truth,  was  very  clumsily. 

"  So  you  are  going  to  be  married,  sir,"  said  the  old 
lady. 

"Scold  him,  Lady  Kockminster,  for  not  telling  us," 
Laura  said,  going  away :  which,  in  truth,  the  old  lady 
began  instantly  to  do.  "  So  you  are  going  to  marry, 
and  to  go  into  Parliament  in  place  of  that  good-for-noth- 
ing Sir  Francis  Clavering.  I  wanted  him  to  give  my 
grandson  his  seat  —  why  did  he  not  give  my  grand- 
son his  seat  ?  I  hope  you  are  to  have  a  great  deal 
of  money  with  Miss  Amory.  I  would 't  take  her 
without  a  great  deal." 

i(  Sir  Francis  Clavering  is  tired  of  Parliament,"  Pen 
said,  wincing,  "and  —  and  I  rather  wish  to  attempt  that 
career.    The  rest  of  the  story  is  at  least  premature." 

"I  wonder,  when  you  had  Laura  at  home,  you 
could  take  up  with  such  an  affected  little  creature  as 
that,"  the  old  lady  continued. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  Miss  Amory  does  not  please  your 
ladyship,"  said  Pen,  smiling. 

"  You  mean  —  that  it  is  no  affair  of  mine,  and  that 
I  am  not  going  to  marry  her.  Well,  I  'm  not,  and 
I'm  very  glad  I  am  not  —  a  little  odious  thing  — 
when  I  think  that  a  man  could  prefer  her  to  my 
Laura,  I 've  no  patience  with  him,  and  so  I  tell  you, 
Mr.  Arthur  Pendennis." 

"  I  am  very  glad  you  see  Laura  with  such  favorable 
eyes,"  Pen  said. 

"  You  are  very  glad,  and  you  are  very  sorry.  What 
does  it  matter,  sir,  whether  you  are  very  glad  or  very 
sorry  ?  A  young  man  who  prefers  Miss  Amory  to 
Miss  Bell  has  no  business  to  be  sorry  or  glad.  A 
young  man  who  takes  up  with  such  a  crooked  lump 


PENDENNIS. 


245 


of  affectation  as  that  little  Amory — for  she  is  crooked, 
I  tell  you  she  is,  —  after  seeing  my  Laura,  has  no 
right  to  hold  up  his  head  again.  Where  is  your 
friend  Bluebeard  ?  The  tall  young  man,  I  mean,  — 
Warrington,  is  n't  his  name  ?  Why  does  he  not  come 
down,  and  marry  Laura  ?  What  do  the  young  men 
mean  by  not  marrying  such  a  girl  as  that  ?  They  all 
marry  for  money  now.  You  are  all  selfish  and  cowards. 
We  ran  away  with  each  other,  and  made  foolish 
matches  in  my  time.  I  have  no  patience  with  the 
young  men !  When  I  was  at  Paris  in  the  winter,  I 
asked  all  the  three  attaches  at  the  Embassy  why  they 
did  not  fall  in  love  with  Miss  Bell?  They  laughed — 
they  said  they  wanted  money.  You  are  all  selfish  — 
you  are  all  cowards." 

"I  hope  before  you  offered  Miss  Bell  to  the  at- 
taches" said  Pen,  with  some  heat,  "  you  did  her  the 
favor  to  consult  her  ?  " 

"Miss  Bell  has  only  a  little  money.  Miss  Bell 
must  marry  soon.  Somebody  must  make  a  match  for 
her,  sir ;  and  a  girl  can't  offer  herself,"  said  the  old 
dowager,  with  great  state.  "  Laura,  my  dear,  I 've 
been  telling  your  cousin  that  all  the  young  men 
are  selfish;  and  that  there  is  not  a  pennyworth  of 
romance  left  among  them.  He  is  as  bad  as  the 
rest." 

u  Have  you  been  asking  Arthur  why  he  won't 
marry  me  ?  "  said  Laura,  with  a  smile,  coming  back 
and  taking  her  cousin's  hand.  (She  had  been  away, 
perhaps,  to  hide  some  traces  of  emotion,  which  she 
did  not  wish  others  to  see.)  "  He  is  going  to  marry 
somebody  else ;  and  I  intend  to  be  very  fond  of  her, 
and  to  go  and  live  with  them,  provided  he  then  does 
not  ask  every  bachelor  who  comes  to  his  house,  why 
he  does  not  marry  me  ?  " 


246 


PENDENNIS. 


The  terrors  of  Pen's  conscience  being  thus  appeased, 
and  his  examination  before  Laura  over  without  any 
reproaches  on  the  part  of  the  latter,  Pen  began  to  find 
that  his  duty  and  inclination  led  him  constantly  to 
Baymouth,  where  Lady  Kockminster  informed  him 
that  a  place  was  always  reserved  for  him  at  her  tabic. 
"  And  I  recommend  you  to  come  often,"  the  old  lady 
said,  "  for  Grandjean  is  an  excellent  cook,  and  to  be 
with  Laura  and  me  will  do  your  manners  good.  It  is 
easy  to  see  that  you  are  always  thinking  about  your- 
self. Don 't  blush  and  stammer  —  almost  all  young 
men  are  always  thinking  about  themselves.  My  sons 
and  grandsons  always  were  until  I  cured  them.  Come 
here,  and  let  us  teach  you  to  behave  properly; 
you  will  not  have  to  carve,  that  is  done  at  the  side- 
table.  Hecker  will  give  you  as  much  wine  as  is  good 
for  you ;  and  on  days  when  you  are  very  good  and 
amusing  you  shall  have  some  champagne.  Hecker, 
mind  what  I  say.  Mr.  Pendennis  is  Miss  Laura's 
brother ;  and  you  will  make  him  comfortable,  and  see 
that  he  does  not  have  too  much  wine,  or  disturb  me 
whilst  I  am  taking  my  nap  after  dinner.  You  are 
selfish:  I  intend  to  cure  you  of  being  selfish.  You 
will  dine  here  when  you  have  no  other  engagements  ; 
and  if  it  rains,  you  had  better  put  up  at  the  hotel." 
As  long  as  the  good  lady  could  order  everybody  round 
about  her,  she  was  not  hard  to  please;  and  all  the 
slaves  and  subjects  of  her  little  dowager  court  trem- 
bled before  her,  but  loved  her. 

She  did  not  receive  a  very  numerous  or  brilliant  so- 
ciety. The  doctor,  of  course,  was  admitted,  as  a  con- 
stant and  faithful  visitor ;  the  vicar  and  his  curate ; 
and  on  public  days  the  vicar's  wife  and  daughters, 
and  some  of  the  season  visitors  at  Baymouth  were  re- 
ceived at  the  old  lady's  entertainments :  but  generally 


PENDENNIS. 


247 


the  company  was  a  small  one,  and  Mr.  Arthur  drank 
his  wine  by  himself,  when  Lady  Rockminster  retired 
to  take  her  doze,  and  to  be  played  and  sung  to  sleep 
by  Laura  after  dinner. 

"  If  my  music  can  give  her  a  nap,"  said  the  good- 
natured  girl,  "  ought  I  not  to  be  very  glad  that  I  can 
do  so  much  good  ?  Lady  Rockminster  sleeps  very 
little  of  night :  and  I  used  to  read  to  her  until  I  fell 
ill  at  Paris,  since  when  she  will  not  hear  of  my 
sitting  up." 

"  Why  did  you  not  write  to  me  when  you  were  ill  ?  " 
asked  Pen,  with  a  blush. 

"  What  good  could  you  do  me  ?  I  had  Martha  to 
nurse  me,  and  the  doctor  every  day.  You  are  too 
busy  to  write  to  women  or  to  think  about  them.  You 
have  your  books  and  your  newspapers,  and  your  poli- 
tics and  your  railroads  to  occupy  you.  I  wrote  when 
I  was  well." 

And  Pen  looked  at  her,  and  blushed  again,  as  he 
remembered  that,  during  all  the  time  of  her  illness,  he 
had  never  written  to  her,  and  had  scarcely  thought 
about  her. 

In  consequence  of  his  relationship,  Pen  was  free  to 
walk  and  ride  with  his  cousin  constantly,  and  in  the 
course  of  those  walks  and  rides,  could  appreciate  the 
sweet  frankness  of  her  disposition,  and  the  truth,  sim- 
plicity, and  kindliness  of  her  fair  and  spotless  heart. 
In  their  mother's  life-time,  she  had  never  spoken  so 
openly  or  so  cordially  as  now.  The  desire  of  poor 
Helen  to  make  a  union  between  her  two  children,  had 
caused  a  reserve  on  Laura's  part  towards  Pen  ;  for 
which,  under  the  altered  circumstances  of  Arthur's 
life,  there  was  now  no  necessity.  He  was  engaged  to 
another  woman  ;  and  Laura  became  his  sister  at  once, 
—  hiding,  or  banishing  from  herself,  any  doubts  which 


248 


PENDENNIS. 


she  might  have  as  to  his  choice ;  striving  to  look 
cheerfully  forward,  and  hope  for  his  prosperity ;  prom- 
ising herself  to  do  all  that  affection  might  do  to  make 
her  mother's  darling  happy. 

Their  talk  was  often  about  the  departed  mother. 
And  it  was  from  a  thousand  stories  which  Laura  told 
him  that  Arthur  was  made  aware  how  constant  and 
absorbing  that  silent  maternal  devotion  had  been  ; 
which  had  accompanied  him  present  and  absent 
through  life,  and  had  only  ended  with  the  fond 
widow's  last  breath.  One  day  the  people  in  Clavering 
saw  a  lad  in  charge  of  a  couple  of  horses  at  the 
churchyard  gate :  and  it  was  told  over  the  place  that 
Pen  and  Laura  had  visited  Helen's  grave  together. 
Since  Arthur  had  come  down  into  the  country,  he  had 
been  there  once  or  twice ;  but  the  sight  of  the  sacred 
stone  had  brought  no  consolation  to  him.  A  guilty 
man  doing  a  guilty  deed :  a  mere  speculator,  content 
to  lay  down  his  faith  and  honor  for  a  fortune  and  a 
worldly  career;  and  owning  that  his  life  was  but  a 
contemptible  surrender  —  what  right  had  he  in  the 
holy  place  ?  —  what  booted  it  to  him  that  others  in 
the  world  he  lived  in  were  no  better  than  himself  ? 
Arthur  and  Laura  rode  by  the  gates  of  Fairoaks ;  and 
he  shook  hands  with  his  tenant's  children,  playing  on 
the  lawn  and  the  terrace  —  Laura  looked  steadily  at 
the  cottage  wall,  at  the  creeper  on  the  porch  and  the 
magnolia  growing  up  to  her  window.  "  Mr.  Pendennis 
rode  by  to-day,"  one  of  the  boys  told  his  mother, 
"  with  a  lady,  and  he  stopped  and  talked  to  us,  and  he 
asked  for  a  bit  of  honeysuckle  off  the  porch,  and  gave 
it  the  lady.  I  couldn't  see  if  she  was  pretty;  she 
had  her  veil  down.  She  was  riding  one  of  Cramp's 
horses,  out  of  Baymouth." 

As  they  rode  over  the  downs  between  home  and 


PENDENNIS. 


249 


Baymouth,  Pen  did  not  speak  much,  though  they  rode 
very  close  together.  He  was  thinking  what  a  mock- 
ery life  was,  and  how  men  refuse  happiness  when 
they  may  have  it ;  or,  having  it,  kick  it  down ;  or 
barter  it,  with  their  eyes  open,  for  a  little  worthless 
money  or  beggarly  honor.  And  then  the  thought 
came,  what  does  it  matter  for  the  little  space.?  The 
lives  of  the  best  and  purest  of  us  are  consumed  in  a 
vain  desire,  and  end  in  a  disappointment :  as  the  dear 
soul's  who  sleeps  in  her  grave  yonder.  She  had  her 
selfish  ambition,  as  much  as  Caesar  had;  and  died, 
balked  of  her  life's  longing.  The  stone  covers  over 
our  hopes  and  our  memories.  Our  place  knows  us 
not.  "Other  people's  children  are  playing  on  the 
grass,"  he  broke  out,  in  a  hard  voice,  "  where  you  and 
I  used  to  play,  Laura.  And  you  see  how  the  magno- 
lia we  planted  has  grown  up  since  our  time.  I  have 
been  round  to  one  or  two  of  the  cottages  where  my 
mother  used  to  visit.  It  is  scarcely  more  than  a  year 
that  she  is  gone,  and  the  people  whom  she  used  to 
benefit  care  no  more  for  her  death  than  for  Queen 
Anne's.  We  are  all  selfish :  the  world  is  selfish : 
there  are  but  a  few  exceptions,  like  you,  my  dear,  to 
shine  like  good  deeds  in  a  naughty  world,  and  make 
the  blackness  more  dismal." 

"  I  wish  you  would  not  speak  in  that  way,  Arthur," 
said  Laura,  looking  down  and  bending  her  head  to  the 
honeysuckle  on  her  breast.  "When  you  told  the 
little  boy  to  give  me  this,  you  were  not  selfish." 

"  A  pretty  sacrifice  I  made  to  get  it  for  you !  "  said 
the  sneerer. 

"  But  your  heart  was  kind  and  full  of  love  when 
you  did  so.  One  cannot  ask  for  more  than  love  and 
kindness ;  and  if  you  think  humbly  of  yourself, 
Arthur,  the  love  and  kindness  are  not  diminished  — 


250 


PENDENNI& 


are  they  ?  I  often  thought  our  dearest  mother  spoiled 
you  at  home,  by  worshipping  you ;  and  that  if  you 
are  —  I  hate  the  word  —  what  you  say,  her  too  great 
fondness  helped  to  make  you  so.  And  as  for  the 
world,  when  men  go  out  into  it,  I  suppose  they  can- 
not be  otherwise  than  selfish.  You  have  to  fight  lor 
yourself,  and  to  get  on  for  yourself,  and  to  make  a 
name  for  yourself.  Mamma  and  your  uncle  both  en- 
couraged you  in  this  ambition.  If  it  is  a  vain  thing, 
why  pursue  it  ?  I  suppose  such  a  clever  man  as  you 
intend  to  do  a  great  deal  of  good  to  the  country,  by 
going  into  Parliament,  or  you  would  not  wish  to  be 
there.  What  are  you  going  to  do  when  you  are  in 
the  House  of  Commons  ?  " 

"Women  don't  understand  about  politics,  my  dear," 
Pen  said,  sneering  at  himself  as  he  spoke. 

"  But  why  don't  you  make  us  understand  ?  I  could 
never  tell  about  Mr.  Pynsent  why  he  should  like  to 
be  there  so  much.    He  is  not  a  clever  man  — 99 

"  He  certainly  is  not  a  genius,  Pynsent,"  said  Pen. 

"  Lady  Diana  says  that  he  attends  Committees  all 
day;  that  then  again  he  is  at  the  House  all  night; 
that  he  always  votes  as  he  is  told;  that  he  never 
speaks  ;  thai:  he  will  never  get  on  beyond  a  subordi- 
nate place,  and,  as  his  grandmother  tells  him,  he  is 
choked  with  red-tape.  Are  you  going  to  follow  the 
same  career,  Arthur?  What  is  there  in  it  so  brill- 
iant that  you  should  be  so  eager  for  it  ?  I  would 
rather  that  you  should  stop  at  home,  and  write  books 
—  good  books,  kind  books,  with  gentle  kind  thoughts, 
such  as  you  have,  dear  Arthur,  and  such  as  might  do 
people  good  to  read.  And  if  you  do  not  win  fame, 
what  then  ?  You  own  it  is  vanity,  and  you  can  live 
very  happily  without  it.  I  must  not  pretend  to  ad- 
vise -  but  I  take  you  at  your  own  word  about  the 


PENDENNIS. 


251 


world ;  and  as  you  own  it  is  wicked,  and  that  it  tires 
you,  ask  you  why  you  don't  leave  it  ?  " 

"And  what  would  you  have  me  do?"  asked  Arthur. 

"  I  would  have  you  bring  your  wife  to  Fairoaks  to 
live  there,  and  study,  and  do  good  round  about  you. 
I  would  like  to  see  your  own  children  playing  on  the 
lawn,  Arthur,  and  that  we  might  pray  in  our  mother's 
church  again  once  more,  dear  brother.  If  the  world 
is  a  temptation,  are  we  not  told  to  pray  that  we  may 
not  be  led  into  it  ?  " 

"Do  you  think  Blanche  would  make  a  good  wife 
for  a  petty  country  gentleman  ?  Do  you  think  I 
should  become  the  character  very  well,  Laura  ?  99  Pen 
asked.  "  Remember  temptation  walks  about  the 
hedge-rows  as  well  as  the  city  streets :  and  idleness 
is  the  greatest  tempter  of  all." 

"  What  does  —  does  Mr.  Warrington  say  ?  "  said 
Laura,  as  a  blush  mounted  up  to  her  cheek,  and  of 
which  Pen  saw  the  fervor,  though  Laura's  veil  fell 
over  her  face  to  hide  it. 

Pen  rode  on  by  Laura's  side  silently  for  a  while. 
George's  name  so  mentioned  brought  back  the  past 
to  him,  and  the  thoughts  which  he  had  once  had  re- 
garding George  and  Laura.  Why  should  the  recur- 
ence  of  the  thought  agitate  him,  now  that  he  knew 
the  union  was  impossible  ?  Why  should  he  be  curi- 
ous to  know  if,  during  the  months  of  their  intimacy, 
Laura  had  felt  a  regard  for  Warrington  ?  From  that 
day  until  the  present  time  George  had  never  alluded 
to  his  story,  and  Arthur  remembered  now  that  since 
then  George  had  scarcely  ever  mentioned  Laura's 
name. 

At  last  he  came  close  to  her.  "  Tell  me  something, 
Laura,"  he  said. 

She  put  back  her  veil  and  looked  at  him.   "  What  is 


252 


PENDENNIS. 


it,  Arthur  ?  "  she  asked  —  though  from  the  tremor 
of  her  voice  she  guessed  very  well. 

"  Tell  me  —  but  for  George's  misfortune  —  I  never 
knew  him  speak  of  it  before  or  since  that  day  — 
would  you  —  would  you  have  given  him  —  what  you 
refused  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Pen,"  she  said,  bursting  into  tears. 

"  He  deserved  you  better  than  I  did,"  poor  Arthur 
groaned  forth,  with  an  indescribable  pang  at  his 
heart.  "I  am  but  a  selfish  wretch,  and  George  is 
better,  nobler,  truer,  than  I  am.    God  bless  him  ! " 

"  Yes,  Pen,"  said  Laura,  reaching  out  her  hand  to 
her  cousin,  and  he  put  his  arm  round  her,  and  for  a 
moment  she  sobbed  on  his  shoulder. 

The  gentle  girl  had  had  her  secret,  and  told  it.  In 
the  widow's  last  journey  from  Fairoaks,  when  hasten- 
ing with  her  mother  to  Arthur's  sick-bed,  Laura  had 
made  a  different  confession ;  and  it  was  only  when 
Warrington  told  his  own  story,  and  described  the 
hopeless  condition  of  his  life,  that  she  discovered 
how  much  her  feelings  had  changed,  and  with  what 
tender  sympathy,  with  what  great  respect,  delight, 
and  admiration  she  had  grown  to  regard  her  cousin's 
friend.  Until  she  knew  that  some  plans  she  might 
have  dreamed  of  were  impossible,  and  that  Warring- 
ton, reading  her  heart,  perhaps,  had  told  his  melan- 
choly story  to  warn  her,  she  had  not  asked  herself 
whether  it  was  possible  that  her  affections  could 
change ;  and  had  been  shocked  and  scared  by  the  dis- 
covery of  the  truth.  How  should  she  have  told  it  to 
Helen,  and  confessed  her  shame  ?  Poor  Laura  felt 
guilty  before  her  friend,  with  the  secret  which  she 
dared  not  confide  to  her ;  felt  as  if  she  had  been  un- 
grateful for  Helen's  love  and  regard ;  felt  as  if  she 
had  been  wickedly  faithless  to  Pen  in  withdrawing 


PENDENNIS. 


253 


that  love  from  him  which  he  did  not  even  care  to 
accept ;  humbled  even  and  repentant  before  Warring- 
ton, lest  she  should  have  encouraged  him  by  undue 
sympathy,  or  shown  the  preference  which  she  began 
to  feel. 

The  catastrophe  which  broke  up  Laura's  home, 
and  the  grief  and  anguish  which  she  felt  for  her 
mother's  death,  gave  her  little  leisure  for  thoughts 
more  selfish ;  and  by  the  time  she  rallied  from  that 
grief  the  minor  one  was  also  almost  cured.  It  was 
but  for  a  moment  that  she  had  indulged  a  hope  about 
Warrington.  Her  admiration  and  respect  for  him  re- 
mained as  strong  as  ever.  But  the  tender  feeling 
with  which  she  knew  she  had  regarded  him  was 
schooled  into  such  calmness,  that  it  may  be  said  to 
have  been  dead  and  passed  away.  The  pang  which 
it  left  behind  was  one  of  humility  and  remorse.  "  Oh, 
how  wicked  and  proud  I  was  about  Arthur,"  she 
thought ;  "  how  self-confident  and  unforgiving  !  I 
never  forgave  from  my  heart  this  poor  girl,  who  was 
fond  of  him,  or  him  for  encouraging  her  love ;  and  I 
have  been  more  guilty  than  she,  poor,  little,  artless 
creature !  I,  professing  to  love  one  man,  could  listen 
to  another  only  too  eagerly;  and  would  not  pardon 
the  change  of  feelings  in  Arthur,  whilst  I  myself  was 
changing  and  unfaithful."  And  so  humiliating  her- 
self and  acknowledging  her  weakness,  the  poor  girl 
sought  for  strength  and  refuge  in  the  manner  in 
which  she  had  been  accustomed  to  look  for  them. 

She  had  done  no  wrong :  but  there  are  some  folks 
who  suffer  for  a  fault  ever  so  trifling  as  much 
as  others  whose  stout  consciences  can  walk  under 
crimes  of  almost  any  weight ;  and  poor  Laura  chose 
to  fancy  that  she  had  acted  in  this  delicate  juncture  of 
her  life  as  a  very  great  criminal.    She  determined 


254 


PENDENNIS. 


that  she  had  done  Pen  a  great  injury  by  withdrawing 
that  love  which,  privately  in  her  mother's  hearing, 
she  had  bestowed  upon  him;  that  she  had  been  un- 
grateful to  her  dead  benefactress  by  ever  allowing 
herself  to  think  of  another  or  of  violating  her  prom- 
ise ;  and  that,  considering  her  own  enormous  crimes, 
she  ought  to  be  very  gentle  in  judging  those  of  others, 
whose  temptations  were  much  greater,  very  likely : 
and  whose  motives  she  could  not  understand. 

A  year  back,  Laura  would  have  been  indignant  at 
the  idea  that  Arthur  should  marry  Blanche :  and  her 
high  spirit  would  have  risen  as  she  thought  that  from 
worldly  motives  he  should  stoop  to  one  so  unworthy. 
Now  when  the  news  was  brought  to  her  of  such  a 
chance  (the  intelligence  was  given  to  her  by  old  Lady 
Rockminster,  whose  speeches  were  as  direct  and  rapid 
as  a  slap  on  the  face),  the  humbled  girl  winced  a  little 
at  the  blow,  but  bore  it  meekly,  and  with  a  desperate 
acquiescence.  "  He  has  a  right  to  marry ;  he  knows 
a  great  deal  more  of  the  world  than  I  do,"  she  argued 
with  herself.  "  Blanche  may  not  be  so  light-minded 
as  she  seemed,  and  who  am  I  to  be  her  judge  ?  I 
dare  say  it  is  very  good  that  Arthur  should  go  into 
Parliament  and  distinguish  himself,  and  my  duty  is 
to  do  everything  that  lies  in  my  power  to  aid  him  and 
Blanche,  and  to  make  his  home  happy.  I  dare  say  I 
shall  live  with  them.  If  I  am  godmother  to  one  of 
their  children,  I  will  leave  her  my  three  thousand 
pounds ! "  And  forthwith  she  began  to  think  what 
she  could  give  Blanche  out  of  her  small  treasures,  and 
how  best  to  conciliate  her  affection.  She  wrote  her 
forthwith  a  kind  letter,  in  which,  of  course,  no  men- 
tion was  made  of  the  plans  in  contemplation,  but  in 
which  Laura  recalled  old  times,  and  spoke  her  good- 
will, and  in  reply  to  this  she  received  an  eager 


PENDENNIS. 


255 


answer  from  Blanche ;  in  which  not  a  word  about 
marriage  was  said,  to  be  sure,  but  Mr.  Pendennis  was 
mentioned  two  or  three  times  in  the  letter,  and  they 
were  to  be  henceforth  dearest  Laura  and  dearest 
Blanche,  and  loving  sisters,  and  so  forth. 

When  Pen  and  Laura  reached  home,  after  Laura's 
confession  (Pen's  noble  acknowledgment  of  his  own 
inferiority  and  generous  expression  of  love  for  War- 
rington, causing  the  girl's  heart  to  throb,  and  render- 
ing doubly  keen  those  tears  which  she  sobbed  on  his 
shoulder),  a  little  slim  letter  was  awaiting  Miss  Bell 
in  the  hall,  which  she  trembled  rather  guiltily  as  she 
unsealed,  and  which  Pen  blushed  as  he  recognized: 
for  he  saw  instantly  that  it  was  from  Blanche. 

Laura  opened  it  hastily,  and  cast  her  eyes  quickly 
over  it,  as  Pen  kept  his  fixed  on  her,  blushing. 

"She  dates  from  London,"  Laura  said.  "She  has 
been  with  old  Bonner,  Lady  Clavering's  maid.  Bon- 
ner is  going  to  marry  Lightfoot  the  butler.  Where 
do  you  think  Blanche  has  been  ? "  she  cried  out 
eagerly. 

"  To  Paris,  to  Scotland,  to  tlfe  Casino  ?  " 

"To  Shepherd's  Inn,  to  see  Fanny;  but  Fanny 
was  n't  there,  and  Blanche  is  going  to  leave  a  present 
for  her.  Isn't  it  kind  of  her  and  thoughtful ? " 
And  she  handed  the  letter  to  Pen,  who  read,  — 

"I  saw  Madame  Mere,  who  was  scrubbing  the 
room,  and  looked  at  me  with  very  scrubby  looks  ;  but 
la  belle  Fanny  was  not  au  logis  ;  and  as  I  heard  that 
she  was  in  Captain  Strong's  apartments,  Bonner  and 
I  mounted  au  troisieme  to  see  this  famous  beauty. 
Another  disappointment  —  only  the  Chevalier  Strong 
and  a  friend  of  his  in  the  room :  so  we  came  away 
after  all  without  seeing  the  enchanting  Fanny. 


256 


PENDENNIS. 


"  Je  t'  envoie  mille  et  mille  baisers.  When  will 
that  horrid  canvassing  be  over  ?  Sleeves  are  worn  " 
etc.  etc. 

After  dinner  the  doctor  was  reading  the  "  Times." 
"  A  young  gentleman  I  attended  when  he  was  here 
some  eight  or  nine  years  ago,  has  come  into  a  fine 
fortune,"  the  doctor  said.  "  I  see  here  announced  the 
death  of  John  Henry  Foker,  Esq.,  of  Logwood  Hall, 
at  Pau,  in  the  Pyrenees,  on  the  15th  ult." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


IK  WHICH  THE  MAJOR  IS  BIDDEN  TO  STAND  AND 
DELIVER. 

Any  gentleman  who  has  frequented  the  "  Wheel  of 
Fortune  M  public-house,  where  it  may  be  remembered 
that  Mr.  James  Morgan's  Club  was  held,  and  where 
Sir  Francis  Clavering  had  an  interview  with  Major 
Pendennis,  is  aware  that  there  are  three  rooms  for 
guests  upon  the  ground-floor,  besides  the  bar  where 
the  landlady  sits.  One  is  a  parlor  frequented  by  the 
public  at  large  ;  to  another  room  gentlemen  in  livery 
resort ;  and  the  third  apartment,  on  the  door  of  which 
"  Private 99  is  painted,  is  that  hired  by  the  Club  of 
"The  Confidentials,"  of  which  Messrs.  Morgan  and 
Lightfoot  were  members. 

The  noiseless  Morgan  had  listened  to  the  conversa- 
tion between  Strong  and  Major  Pendennis  at  the  lat- 
ter's  own  lodgings,  and  had  carried  away  from  it 
matter  for  much  private  speculation ;  and  a  desire  of 
knowledge  had  led  him  to  follow  his  master  when  the 
Major  came  to  the  "  Wheel  of  Fortune,"  and  to  take 
his  place  quietly  in  the  Confidential  room,  whilst 
Pendennis  and  Clavering  had  their  discourse  in  the 
parlor.  There  was  a  particular  corner  in  the  Confi- 
dential room  from  which  you  could  hear  almost  all 
that  passed  in  the  next  apartment;  and  as  the  con- 
versation between  the  two  gentlemen  there  was  rather 
angry,  and  carried  on  in  a  high  key,  Morgan  had  the 


258 


PENDENNIS. 


benefit  of  overhearing  almost  the  whole  of  it ;  and 
what  he  heard  strengthened  the  conclusions  which  his 
mind  had  previously  formed. 

"  He  knew  Altamont  at  once,  did  he,  when  he  saw 
him  in  Sydney  ?  Clavering  ain't  no  more  married  to 
my  Lady  than  I  am !  Altamont  's  the  man :  Alta- 
mont 's  a  convict ;  young  Harthur  comes  into  Parly- 
ment,  and  the  Gov'nor  promises  not  to  split.  By 
Jove,  what  a  sly  old  rogue  it  is,  that  old  Gov'nor ! 
No  wonder  he 's  anxious  to  make  the  match  between 
Blanche  and  Harthur :  why,  she  '11  have  a  hundred 
thousand  if  she 's  a  penny,  and  bring  her  man  a  seat 
in  Parlyment  into  the  bargain."  Nobody  saw,  but  a 
physiognomist  would  have  liked  to  behold,  the  expres- 
sion of  Mr.  Morgan's  countenance,  when  this  astound- 
ing intelligence  was  made  clear  to  him.  "But  for 
my  hage,  and  the  confounded  prejudices  of  society,"  he 
said,  surveying  himself  in  the  glass,  "  dammy,  James 
Morgan,  you  might  marry  her  yourself."  But  if  he 
could  not  marry  Miss  Blanche  and  her  fortune,  Mor- 
gan thought  he  could  mend  his  own  by  the  possession 
of  this  information,  and  that  it  might  be  productive 
of  benefit  to  him  from  very  many  sources.  Of  all  the 
persons  whom  the  secret  affected,  the  greater  number 
would  not  like  to  have  it  known.  For  instance,  Sir 
Francis  Clavering,  whose  fortune  it  involved,  would 
wish  to  keep  it  quiet ;  Colonel  Altamont,  whose  neck 
it  implicated,  would  naturally  be  desirous  to  hush  it : 
and  that  young  upstart  beast,  Mr.  Harthur,  who  was 
for  gettin'  into  Parlyment  on  the  strenth  of  it,  and 
was  as  proud  as  if  he  was  a  duke  with  half  a  millium 
a-year  (such,  we  grieve  to  say,  was  Morgan's  opinion 
of  his  employer's  nephew),  would  pay  anything  sooner 
than  let  the  world  know  that  he  was  married  to  a  con- 
vick's  daughter,  and  had  got  his  seat  in  Parlyment  by 


PEXDENNIS. 


259 


trafficking  with,  this  secret.  As  for  Lady  C,  Morgan 
thought,  if  she 's  tired  of  Clavering,  and  wants  to  get 
rid  of  him,  she  '11  pay  if  she 's  frightened  about  her 
son,  and  fond  of  the  little  beggar,  she  '11  pay  all  the 
same  :  and  Miss  Blanche  will  certainly  come  down 
handsome  to  the  man  who  will  put  her  into  her 
rights,  which  she  was  unjustly  defrauded  of  them,  and 
no  mistake.  "  Dammy,"  concluded  the  valet,  reflecting 
upon  this  wonderful  hand  which  luck  had  given  him 
to  play,  "  with  such  cards  as  these,  James  Morgan, 
you  are  a  made  man.  It  may  be  a  reg'lar  enewity  to 
me.  Every  one  of  'em  must  susscribe.  And  with 
what  I 've  made  already,  I  may  cut  business,  give  my 
old  Gov'nor  warning,  turn  gentleman,  and  have  a  ser- 
vant of  my  own,  begad."  Entertaining  himself  with 
calculations  such  as  these,  that  were  not  a  little  likely 
to  perturb  a  man's  spirit,  Mr.  Morgan  showed  a  very 
great  degree  of  self-command  by  appearing  and  being 
calm,  and  by  not  allowing  his  future  prospects  in  any 
way  to  interfere  with  his  present  duties. 

One  of  the  persons  whom  the  story  chiefly  con- 
cerned, Colonel  Altamont,  was  absent  from  London, 
when  Morgan  was  thus  made  acquainted  with  his 
history.  The  valet  knew  of  Sir  Francis  Clavering's 
Shepherd's  Inn  haunt,  and  walked  thither  an  hour  or 
two  after  the  Baronet  and  Pendennis  had  had  their 
conversation  together.  But  that  bird  was  flown; 
Colonel  Altamont  had  received  his  Derby  winnings, 
and  was  gone  to  the  Continent.  The  fact  of  his 
absence  was  exceedingly  vexatious  to  Mr.  Morgan. 
"  He  '11  drop  all  that  money  at  the  gambling-shops  on 
the  Rhind,"  thought  Morgan,  "  and  I  might  have  had 
a  good  bit  of  it.  It 's  confounded  annoying  to  think 
he's  gone  and  couldn't  have  waited  a  few  days 
longer."    Hope,  triumphant  or  deferred,  ambition  or 


260 


PENDENNIS. 


disappointment,  victory  or  patient  ambush,  Morgan 
bore  all  alike,  with  similar  equable  countenance. 
Until  the  proper  day  came,  the  Major's  boots  were 
varnished  and  his  hair  was  curled,  his  early  cup  of 
tea  was  brought  to  his  bedside,  his  oaths,  rebukes,  and 
senile  satire  borne,  with  silent  obsequious  fidelity. 
Who  would  think,  to  see  him  waiting  upon  his  master, 
packing  and  shouldering  his  trunks,  and  occasionally 
assisting  at  table,  at  the  country-houses  where  he 
might  be  staying,  that  Morgan  was  richer  than  his 
employer,  and  knew  his  secrets  and  other  people's  ? 
In  the  profession  Mr.  Morgan  was  greatly  respected 
and  admired,  and  his  reputation  for  wealth  and 
wisdom  got  him  much  renown  at  most  supper-tables  : 
the  younger  gentlemen  voted  him  stoopid,  a  feller  of 
no  ideas,  and  a  fogy,  in  a  word :  but  not  one  of  them 
would  not  say  amen  to  the  heartfelt  prayer  which 
some  of  the  most  serious-minded  among  the  gentle- 
men uttered,  "  When  I  die  may  I  cut  up  as  well  as 
Morgan  Pendennis ! " 

As  became  a  man  of  fashion,  Major  Pendennis 
spent  the  autumn  passing  from  house  to  house  of 
such  country  friends  as  were  at  home  to  receive  him, 
and  if  the  Duke  happened  to  be  abroad,  or  the 
Marquis  in  Scotland,  condescending  to  sojourn  with 
Sir  John  or  the  plain  Squire.  To  say  the  truth,  the 
old  gentleman's  reputation  was  somewhat  on  the 
wane :  many  of  the  men  of  his  time  had  died  out, 
and  the  occupants  of  their  halls  and  the  present 
wearers  of  their  titles  knew  not  Major  Pendennis; 
and  little  cared  for  his  traditions  of  the  wild  Prince 
and  Poins,  and  of  the  heroes  of  fashion  passed  away. 
It  must  have  struck  the  good  man  with  melancholy  as 
lie  walked  by  many  a  London  door,  to  think  how 


PENDENNIS. 


261 


seldom  it  was  now  opened  for  him,  and  how  often  he 
used  to  knock  at  it  —  to  what  banquets  and  welcome 
he  used  to  pass  through  it  —  a  score  of  years  back. 
He  began  to  own  that  he  was  no  longer  of  the  present 
age,  and  dimly  to  apprehend  that  the  young  men 
laughed  at  him.  Such  melancholy  musings  must  come 
across  many  a  Pall  Mall  philosopher.  The  men, 
thinks  he,  are  not  such  as  they  used  to  be  in  his 
time :  the  old  grand  manner  and  courtly  grace  of  life 
are  gone  :  what  is  Castlewood  House  and  the  present 
Castlewood,  compared  to  the  magnificence  of  the  old 
mansion  and  owner  ?  The  late  lord  came  to  London 
with  four  post-chaises  and  sixteen  horses  :  all  the 
West  Road  hurried  out  to  look  at  his  cavalcade :  the 
people  in  London  streets  even  stopped  as  his  pro- 
cession passed  them.  The  present  lord  travels  with 
five  bagmen  in  a  railway  carriage,  and  sneaks  away 
from  the  station,  smoking  a  cigar  in  a  brougham. 
The  late  lord  in  autumn  filled  Castlewood  with  com- 
pany, who  drank  claret  till  midnight :  the  present 
man  buries  himself  in  a  hut  on  a  Scotch  mountain, 
and  passes  November  in  two  or  three  closets  in  an 
entresol  at  Paris,  where  his  amusements  are  a  dinner 
at  a  cafe  and  a  box  at  a  little  theatre.  What  a  con- 
trast there  is  between  his  Lady  Lorraine,  the  Regent's 
Lady  Lorraine,  and  her  little  ladyship  of  the  present 
era !  He  figures  to  himself  the  first,  beautiful,  gor- 
geous, magnificent  in  diamonds  and  velvets,  daring  in 
rouge,  the  wits  of  the  world  (the  old  wits,  the  old 
polished  gentlemen  —  not  the  canaille  of  to-day  with 
their  language  of  the  cab-stand,  and  their  coats  smell- 
ing of  smoke)  bowing  at  her  feet ;  and  then  thinks  of 
to-day's  Lady  Lorraine  —  a  little  woman  in  a  black 
silk  gown,  like  a  governess,  who  talks  astronomy,  and 
laboring  classes,  and  emigration,  and  the  deuce  knows 


262 


PENDENNIS. 


what,  and  lurks  to  church  at  eight  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  Abbots-Lorraine,  that  used  to  be  the  noblest 
house  in  the  county,  is  turned  into  a  monastery  —  a 
regular  La  Trappe.  They  don't  drink  two  glasses  of 
wine  after  dinner,  and  every  other  man  at  table  is  a 
country  curate,  with  a  white  neck-cloth,  whose  talk  is 
about  Polly  Higson's  progress  at  school,  or  widow 
Watkins's  lumbago.  "  And  the  other  young  men, 
those  lounging  guardsmen  and  great  lazy  dandies  — 
sprawling  over  sofas  and  billiard-tables,  and  stealing 
off  to  smoke  pipes  in  each  other's  bedrooms,  caring 
for  nothing,  reverencing  nothing,  not  even  an  old 
gentleman  who  has  known  their  fathers  and  their 
betters,  not  even  a  pretty  woman  —  what  a  difference 
there  is  between  these  men  who  poison  the  very 
turnips  and  stubble-fields  with  their  tobacco,  and  the 
gentlemen  of  our  time !  "  thinks  the  Major ;  "  the 
breed  is  gone  —  there 's  no  use  for  'em ;  they  're 
replaced  by  a  parcel  of  damned  cotton-spinners  and 
utilitarians,  and  young  sprigs  of  parsons  with  their 
hair  combed  down  their  backs.  I 'm  getting  old : 
they  're  getting  past  me  :  they  laugh  at  us  old  boys," 
thought  old  Pendennis.  And  he  was  not  far  wrong  ; 
the  times  and  manners  which  he  admired  were  pretty 
nearly  gone  —  the  gay  young  men  "  larked "  him 
irreverently,  whilst  the  serious  youth  had  a  grave  pity 
and  wonder  at  him,  which  would  have  been  even 
more  painful  to  bear,  had  the  old  gentleman  been 
aware  of  its  extent.  But  he  was  rather  simple :  his 
examination  of  moral  questions  had  never  been  very 
deep;  it  had  never  struck  him  perhaps,  until  very 
lately,  that  he  was  otherwise  than  a  most  respectable 
and  rather  fortunate  man.  Is  there  no  old  age  but  his 
without  reverence  ?  Did  youthful  folly  never  jeer  at 
other  bald  pates  ?    For  the  past  two  or  three  years,  he 


PENDENNIS. 


263 


had  begun  to  perceive  that  his  day  was  well-nigh  over, 
and  that  the  men  of  the  new  time  had  begun  to  reign. 

After  a  rather  unsuccessful  autumn  season,  then, 
during  which  he  was  faithfully  followed  by  Mr.  Mor- 
gan, his  nephew  Arthur  being  engaged,  as  we  have 
seen,  at  Clavering,  it  happened  that  Major  Pendennis 
came  back  for  a  while  to  London,  at  the  dismal  end  of 
October,  when  the  fogs  and  the  lawyers  come  to  town. 
Who  has  not  looked  with  interest  at  those  loaded  cabs, 
piled  boxes,  and  crowded  children,  rattling  through  the 
streets  on  the  dun  October  evenings  ;  stopping  at  the 
dark  houses,  where  they  discharge  nurse  and  infant, 
girls,  matron  and  father,  whose  holidays  are  over  ? 
Yesterday  it  was  France  and  sunshine,  or  Broadstairs 
and  liberty ;  to-day  comes  work  and  a  yellow  fog ; 
and,  ye  gods  !  what  a  heap  of  bills  there  lies  in 
Master's  study.  And  the  clerk  has  brought  the  law- 
yer's papers  from  chambers ;  and  in  half  an  hour 
the  literary  man  knows  that  the  printer's  boy  will  be 
in  the  passage :  and  Mr.  Smith  with  that  little  account 
(that  particular  little  account)  has  called  presentient 
of  your  arrival,  and  has  left  word  that  he  will  call  to- 
morrow morning  at  ten.  Who  amongst  us  has  not 
said  good-by  to  his  holiday  ;  returned  to  dun  London, 
and  his  fate  ;  surveyed  his  labors  and  liabilities  laid 
out  before  him,  and  been  aware  of  that  inevitable  lit- 
tle account  to  settle  ?  Smith  and  his  little  account  in 
the  morning,  symbolize  duty,  difficulty,  struggle,  which 
you  will  meet,  let  us  hope,  friend,  with  a  manly  and 
honest  heart.  —  And  you  think  of  him,  as  the  children 
are  slumbering  once  more  in  their  own  beds,  and  the 
watchful  housewife  tenderly  pretends  to  sleep. 

Old  Pendennis  had  no  special  labors  or  bills  to  en- 
counter on  the  morrow,  as  he  had  no  affection  at  home 
to  soothe  him.    He  had  always  money  m  his  desk 


264 


PENDENNIS. 


sufficient  for  his  wants;  and  being  by  nature  and 
habit  tolerably  indifferent  to  the  wants  of  other  people 
these  latter  were  not  likely  to  disturb  him.  But  a 
gentleman  may  be  out  of  temper  though  he  does  not 
owe  a  shilling :  and  though  he  may  be  ever  so  selfish, 
he  must  occasionally  feel  dispirited  and  lonely.  He 
had  had  two  or  three  twinges  of  gout  in  the  country- 
house  where  he  had  been  staying:  the  birds  were 
wild  and  shy,  and  the  walking  over  the  ploughed 
fields  had  fatigued  him  deucedly :  the  young  men  had 
laughed  at  him,  and  he  had  been  peevish  at  table  once 
or  twice :  he  had  not  been  able  to  get  his  whist  of  an 
evening  :  and,  in  fine,  was  glad  to  come  away.  In  all 
his  dealings  with  Morgan,  his  valet,  he  had  been  ex- 
ceedingly sulky  and  discontented.  He  had  sworn  at 
him  and  abused  him  for  many  days  past.  He  had 
scalded  his  mouth  with  bad  soup  at  Swindon.  He  had 
left  his  umbrella  in  the  railroad  carriage :  at  which 
piece  of  forgetfulness,  he  was  in  such  a  rage  that  he 
cursed  Morgan  more  freely  than  ever.  Both  the 
chimneys  smoked  furiously  in  his  lodgings  ;  and  when 
he  caused  the  windows  to  be  flung  open,  he  swore  so 
acrimoniously,  that  Morgan  was  inclined  to  fling  him 
out  of  window,  too,  through  that  open  casement.  The 
valet  swore  after  his  master,  as  Pendennis  went  down 
the  street  on  his  way  to  the  Club. 

Bays's  was  not  at  all  pleasant.  The  house  had  been 
new  painted,  and  smelt  of  varnish  and  turpentine,  and 
a  large  streak  of  white  paint  inflicted  itself  on  the 
back  of  the  old  boy's  fur-collared  surtout.  The  din- 
ner was  not  good :  and  the  three  most  odious  men  in 
all  London  —  old  Hawkshaw,  whose  cough  and  accom- 
paniments are  fit  to  make  any  man  uncomfortable ; 
old  Colonel  Gripley,  who  seizes  on  all  the  newspapers  ; 
and  that  irreclaimable  old  bore  Jawkins  who  would 


Mr.  Morgan  at  His  Ease. 


PENDENNIS. 


265 


come  and  dine  at  the  next  table  to  Pendennis,  and  de- 
scribe to  him  every  inn-bill  which  he  had  paid  in  his 
foreign  tour :  each  and  all  of  these  disagreeable  per- 
sonages and  incidents  had  contributed  to  make  Major 
Pendennis  miserable  ;  and  the  Club  waiter  trod  on  his 
toe  as  he  brought  him  his  coffee.  Never  alone  appear 
the  Immortals.  The  furies  always  hunt  in  company : 
they  pursued  Pendennis  from  home  to  the  Club,  and 
from  the  Club  home. 

Whilst  the  Major  was  absent  from  his  lodgings, 
Morgan  had  been  seated  in  the  landlady's  parlor,  drink- 
ing freely  of  hot  brandy-and-water,  and  pouring  out  on 
Mrs.  Brixham  some  of  the  abuse  which  he  had  re- 
ceived from  his  master  up-stairs.  Mrs.  Brixham  was 
Morgan's  slave.  He  was  his  landlady's  landlord.  He 
had  bought  the  lease  of  the  house  which  she  rented  ; 
he  had  got  her  name  and  her  son's  to  acceptances,  and 
a  bill  of  sale  which  made  him  master  of  the  luckless 
widow's  furniture.  The  young  Brixham  was  a  clerk  in 
an  insurance-office,  and  Morgan  could  put  him  into 
what  he  called  quod  any  day.  Mrs.  Brixham  was  a 
clergyman's  widow,  and  Mr.  Morgan,  after  performing 
his  duties  on  the  first  floor,  had  a  pleasure  in  making 
the  old  lady  fetch  him  his  bootjack  and  his  slippers. 
She  was  his  slave.  The  little  black  profiles  of  her  son 
and  daughter ;  the  very  picture  of  Tiddlecot  Church, 
where  she  was  married,  and  her  poor  dear  Brixham 
lived  and  died,  was  now  Morgan's  property,  as  it  hung 
there  over  the  mantel-piece  of  his  back  parlor.  Mor- 
gan sat  in  the  widow's  back-room,  in  the  ex-curate's 
old  horse-hair  study-chair,  making  Mrs.  Brixham  bring 
supper  for  him,  and  fill  his  glass  again  and  again. 

The  liquor  was  bought  with  the  poor  woman's  own 
coin,  and  hence  Morgan  indulged  in  it  only  the  more 
freely ;  and  he  had  eaten  his  supper  and  was  drinking 


266  PENDENNIS. 

a  third  tumbler  when  old  Pen  dermis  returned  from 
the  Club,  and  went  up-stairs  to  his  rooms.  Mr.  Mor- 
gan swore  very  savagely  at  him  and  his  bell,  when  he 
heard  the  latter,  and  finished  his  tumbler  of  brandy 
before  he  went  up  to  answer  the  summons. 

He  received  the  abuse  consequent  on  this  delay  in 
silence,  nor  did  the  Major  condescend  to  read  in  the 
flushed  face  and  glaring  eyes  of  the  man,  the  anger 
under  which  he  was  laboring.  The  old  gentleman's 
foot-bath  was  at  the  fire ;  his  gown  and  slippers 
awaiting  him  there.  Morgan  knelt  down  to  take  his 
boots  off  with  due  subordination:  and  as  the  Major 
abused  him  from  above,  kept  up  a  growl  of  maledic- 
tions below  at  his  feet.  Thus,  when  Pendennis  was 
crying  "Confound  you,  sir,  mind  that  strap  —  curse 
you,  don't  wrench  my  foot  off,"  Morgan  sotto  voce  be- 
low was  expressing  a  wish  to  strangle  him,  drown 
him,  and  punch  his  head  off. 

The  boots  removed,  it  became  necessary  to  divest 
Mr.  Pendennis  of  his  coat :  and  for  this  purpose  the 
valet  had  necessarily  to  approach  very  near  to  his 
employer ;  so  near  that  Pendennis  could  not  but  per- 
ceive what  Mr.  Morgan's  late  occupation  had  been; 
to  which  he  adverted  in  that  simple  and  forcible 
phraseology  which  men  are  sometimes  in  the  habit  of 
using  to  their  domestics ;  informing  Morgan  that  he 
was  a  drunken  beast,  and  that  he  smelt  of  brandy. 

At  this  the  man  broke  out,  losing  patience,  and 
flinging  up  all  subordination,  "  I 'm  drunk,  am  I  ? 
I 'm  a  beast,  am  I  ?  I 'm  d — d,  am  I  ?  you  infernal 
old  miscreant.  Shall  I  wring  your  old  head  off,  and 
drownd  yer  in  that  pail  of  water  ?  Do  you  think  I 'm 
a  goin'  to  bear  your  confounded  old  harrogance,  you 
old  Wigsby  ?  Chatter  your  old  hivories  at  me,  do 
you,  you  grinning  old  baboon !    Come  on,  if  you  are  a 


PEXDENNIS. 


267 


man,  and  can  stand  to  a  man.  Ha !  you  coward, 
knives,  knives  ! " 

"  If  you  advance  a  step  I  '11  send  it  into  you,"  said 
the  Major,  seizing  up  a  knife  that  was  on  the  table 
near  him.  "  Go  down  stairs,  you  drunken  brute,  and 
leave  the  house  ;  send  for  your  book  and  your  wages 
in  the  morning,  and  never  let  me  see  your  insolent 
lace  again.  This  d — d  impertinence  of  yours  has 
been  growing  for  some  months  past.  You  have  been 
growing  too  rich.  You  are  not  fit  for  service.  Get 
out  of  it,  and  out  of  the  house. " 

"  And  where  would  you  wish  me  to  go,  pray,  out  of 
the  'ouse  ?  "  asked  the  man,  "  and  won't  it  be  equal 
convenient  to-morrow  mornin'  ?  —  tootyfay  mame  shose, 
sivvaplay,  munseer?  " 

"  Silence,  you  beast,  and  go  !  "  cried  out  the  Major. 

Morgan  began  to  laugh,  with  rather  a  sinister 
laugh.  "  Look  yere,  Pendennis,"  he  said,  seating  him- 
self ;  "  since  I 've  been  in  this  room  you 've  called  me 
beast,  brute,  dog  :  and  d — d  me,  have  n't  you  ?  How 
do  you  suppose  one  man  likes  that  sort  of  talk  from 
another  ?  How  many  years  have  I  waited  on  you,  and 
how  many  damns  and  cusses  have  you  given  me,  along 
with  my  wages  ?  Do  you  think  a  man 's  a  dog,  that 
you  can  talk  to  him  in  this  way  ?  If  I  choose  to 
drink  a  little,  why  should  n't  I  ?  I 've  seen  many  a 
gentleman  drunk  form'ly,  and  per'aps  have  the  'abit 
from  them.  I  ain't  a  goin'  to  leave  this  house,  old 
feller,  and  shall  I  tell  you  why  ?  The  house  is  my 
house,  every  stick  of  furnitur'  in  it  is  mine,  excep' 
your  old  traps,  and  your  shower-bath,  and  your  wig- 
box.  I 've  bought  the  place,  I  tell  you,  with  my  own 
industry  and  perseverance.  I  can  show  a  hundred 
pound,  where  you  can  show  a  fifty,  or  your  damned 
supersellious  nephew  either.    I 've  served  you  honor* 


2G8 


PENDENNIS. 


able,  done  everything  for  you  these  dozen  years,  and 
*  I 'm  a  dog,  am  I  ?  I 'm  a  beast,  am  I  ?  That 's  the 
language  for  gentlemen,  not  for  our  rank.  But  I  '11 
bear  it  no  more.  I  throw  up  your  service  ;  I 'm  tired 
on  it ;  I  've  combed  your  old  wig  and  buckled  your 
old  girths  and  waistbands  long  enough,  I  tell  you. 
Don't  look  savage  at  me,  I 'm  sitting  in  my  own  chair, 
in  my  own  room,  a  telling  the  truth  to  you.  I  '11  be 
your  beast,  and  your  brute,  and  your  dog  no  more, 
Major  Pendennis  'Alf  Pay." 

The  fury  of  the  old  gentleman,  met  by  the  servant's 
abrupt  revolt,  had  been  shocked  and  cooled  by  the 
concussion,  as  much  as  if  a  sudden  shower-bath  or 
a  pail  of  cold  water  had  been  flung  upon  him.  That 
effect  produced,  and  his  anger  calmed,  Morgan's 
speech  had  interested  him,  and  he  rather  respected 
his  adversary,  and  his  courage  in  facing  him,  as  of 
old  days,  in  the  fencing-room,  he  would  have  admired 
the  opponent  who  hit  him. 

"  You  are  no  longer  my  servant,"  the  Major  said : 
"  and  the  house  may  be  yours ;  but  the  lodgings  are 
mine,  and  you  will  have  the  goodness  to  leave  them. 
To-morrow  morning,  when  we  have  settled  our  ac- 
counts, I  shall  remove  into  other  quarters.  In  the 
mean  time,  I  desire  to  go  to  bed,  and  have  not  the 
slightest  wish  for  your  farther  company." 

"We'll  have  a  settlement,  don't  you  be  afraid," 
Morgan  said,  getting  up  from  his  chair.  "I  ain't 
done  with  you  yet ;  nor  with  your  family,  nor  with 
the  Clavering  family,  Major  Pendennis  ;  and  that  you 
shall  know." 

"  Have  the  goodness  to  leave  the  room,  sir ;  —  I 'm 
tired,"  said  the  Major. 

"  Ha !  you  '11  be  more  tired  of  me  afore  you 've 
done,"  answered  the  man,  with  a  sneer,  and  walked 


PENDENNIS. 


269 


out  of  the  room  ;  leaving  the  Major  to  compose  him- 
self, as  best  he  might,  after  the  agitation  of  this 
extraordinary  scene. 

He  sat  and  mused  by  his  fireside  over  the  past 
events,  and  the  confounded  impudence  and  ingrati- 
tude of  servants ;  and  thought  how  he  should  get  a 
new  man :  how  devilish  unpleasant  it  was  for  a  man 
of  his  age,  and  with  his  habits,  to  part  writh  a  fellow 
to  whom  he  had  been  accustomed :  how  Morgan  had 
a  receipt  for  boot-varnish,  which  was  incomparably 
better  and  more  comfortable  to  the  feet  than  any  he 
had  ever  tried  :  how  very  well  he  made  mutton-broth, 
and  tended  him  when  he  was  unwell.  "  Gad,  it 's  a 
hard  thing  to  lose  a  fellow  of  that  sort :  but  he  must 
go,"  thought  the  Major.  "He  has  grown  rich,  and 
impudent  since  he  has  grown  rich.  He  was  horribly 
tipsy  and  abusive  to-night.  We  must  part,  and  I 
must  go  out  of  the  lodgings.  Dammy,  I  like  the 
lodgings  ;  I 'm  used  to  'em.  It 's  very  unpleasant, 
at  my  time  of  life,  to  change  my  quarters."  And  so 
on,  mused  the  old  gentleman.  The  shower-bath  had 
done  him  good :  the  testiness  was  gone :  the  loss  of 
the  umbrella,  the  smell  of  paint  at  the  Club,  were 
forgotten  under  the  superior  excitement.  "  Confound 
the  insolent  villain ! "  thought  the  old  gentleman. 
"  He  understood  my  wants  to  a  nicety ;  he  was  the 
best  servant  in  England."  He  thought  about  his  ser- 
vant as  a  man  thinks  of  a  horse  that  has  carried  him 
long  and  well,  and  that  has  come  down  with  him,  and 
is  safe  no  longer.  How  the  deuce  to  replace  him  ? 
Where  can  he  get  such  another  animal  ? 

In  these  melancholy  cogitations  the  Major,  who  had 
donned  his  own  dressing-gown  and  replaced  his  head 
of  hair  (a  little  gray  had  been  introduced  into  the 
coiffure  of  late  by  Mr.  Truefitt,  which  had  given  the 


270 


PENDENNIS. 


Major's  head  the  most  artless  and  respectable  appear- 
ance) ;  in  these  cogitations,  we  say,  the  Major,  who 
had  taken  off  his  wig  and  pnt  on  his  night-handker- 
chief, sat  absorbed  by  the  fireside,  when  a  feeble 
knock  came  at  his  door,  which  was  presently  opened 
by  the  landlady  of  the  lodgings. 

"  God  bless  my  soul,  Mrs.  Brixham  !  "  cried  out  the 
Major,  startled  that  a  lady  should  behold  him  in  the 
simple  appareil  of  his  night-toilet.  "  It  —  it 's  very 
late,  Mrs.  Brixham." 

"  I  wish  I  might  speak  to  you,  sir,"  said  the  land- 
lady, very  piteously. 

"  About  Morgan,  I  suppose  ?  He  has  cooled  him- 
self at  the  pump.  Can't  take  him  back,  Mrs.  Brix- 
ham. Impossible.  I 'd  determined  to  part  with  him 
before,  when  I  heard  of  his  dealings  in  the  discount 
business  —  I  suppose  you 've  heard  of  them,  Mrs. 
Brixham  ?    My  servant 's  a  capitalist,  begad." 

"  Oh,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Brixham,  "  I  know  it  to  my 
cost.  I  borrowed  from  him  a  little  money  five  years 
ago ;  and  though  I  have  paid  him  many  times  over, 
I  am  entirely  in  his  power.  I  am  ruined  by  him,  sir. 
Everything  I  had  is  his.    He 's  a  dreadful  man." 

"  Eh,  Mrs.  Brixham  ?  tant  pis  —  dev'lish  sorry  for 
you,  and  that  I  must  quit  your  house  after  lodging 
here  so  long  :  there 's  no  help  for  it.    I  must  go." 

"  He  says  we  must  all  go,  sir,"  sobbed  out  the  luck- 
less widow.  "  He  came  down  stairs  from  you  just 
now  —  he  had  been  drinking,  and  it  always  makes 
him  very  wicked  —  and  he  said  that  you  had  insulted 
him,  sir,  and  treated  him  like  a  dog,  and  spoken  to 
him  unkindly  ;  and  he  swore  he  would  be  revenged, 
and  —  and  I  owe  him  a  hundred  and  twenty  pounds, 
sir,  —  and  he  has  a  bill  of  sale  of  all  my  furniture  — 
and  says  he  will  turn  me  out  of  my  house,  and  send 


PENDENNIS. 


271 


my  poor  George  to  prison.  He  has  been  the  ruin  of 
my  family,  that  man." 

"  Dev'lish  sorry,  Mrs.  Brixham ;  pray  take  a  chair. 
What  can  I  do?" 

"  Could  you  not  intercede  with  him  for  us  ?  George 
will  give  half  his  allowance  :  my  daughter  can  send 
something.  If  you  will  but  stay  on,  sir,  and  pay  a 
quarter's  rent  in  advance  —  " 

"  My  good  madam,  I  would  as  soon  give  you  a 
quarter  in  advance  as  not,  if  I  were  going  to  stay  in 
the  lodgings.  But  I  can't ;  and  I  can't  afford  to  fling 
away  twenty  pounds,  my  good  madam.  I 'm  a  poor 
half-pay  officer,  and  want  every  shilling  I  have,  be- 
gad.   As  far  as  a  few  pounds  goes  —  say  five  pounds 

—  I  don't  say  —  and  shall  be  most  happy,  and  that 
sort  of  thing  :  and  I  '11  give  it  to  you  in  the  morning 
with  pleasure  :  but  —  but  it 's  getting  late,  and  I  have 
made  a  railroad  journey." 

u  God's  will  be  done,  sir,"  said  the  poor  woman, 
drying  her  tears.    "  I  must  bear  my  fate." 

"  And  a  dev'lish  hard  one  it  is,  and  most  sincerely 
I  pity  you,  Mrs.  Brixham.  I  —  I  '11  say  ten  pounds, 
if  you  will  permit  me.  Good-night." 

"  Mr.  Morgan,  sir,  when  he  came  down  stairs,  and 
when  —  when  I  besought  him  to  have  pity  on  me, 
and  told  him  he  had  been  the  ruin  of  my  family,  said 
something  which  I  did  not  well  understand  —  that  he 
would  ruin  every  family  in  the  house  — that  he  knew 
something  would  bring  you  down  too  —  and  that  you 
should  pay  him  for  your  —  your  insolence  to  him.  I 

—  I  must  own  to  you,  that  I  went  down  on  my  knees 
to  him,  sir  ;  and  he  said,  with  a  dreadful  oath  against 
you,  that  he  would  have  you  on  your  knees." 

"  Me  ?  —  by  Gad,  that  is  too  pleasant !  Where  is 
the  confounded  fellow  ?  " 


272 


PENDENNIS. 


"  He  went  away,  sir.  He  said  he  should  see  you  in 
the  morning.  Oh,  pray  try  and  pacify  him,  and  save 
me  and  my  poor  boy."  And  the  widow  went  away 
with  this  prayer  to  pass  her  night  as  she  might,  and 
look  for  the  dreadful  morrow. 

The  last  words  about  himself  excited  Major  Pen- 
dennis  so  much,  that  his  compassion  for  Mrs.  Brix- 
ham's  misfortunes  was  quite  forgotten  in  the  con- 
sideration of  his  own  case. 

"  Me  on  my  knees  ?  "  thought  he,  as  he  got  into 
bed :  "  confound  his  impudence.  Who  ever  saw  me 
on  my  knees  ?  What  the  devil  does  the  fellow  know  ? 
Gad,  I 've  not  had  an  affair  these  twenty  years.  I 
defy  him."  And  the  old  campaigner  turned  round 
and  slept  pretty  sound,  being  rather  excited  and 
amused  by  the  events  of  the  day  —  the  last  day  in 
Bury  Street,  he  was  determined  it  should  be.  "  For 
it 's  impossible  to  stay  on  with  a  valet  over  me  and 
a  bankrupt  landlady.  What  good  can  I  do  this  poor 
devil  of  a  woman  ?  I  '11  give  her  twenty  pound  — 
there 's  Warrington's  twenty  pound,  which  he  has 
just  paid  —  but  what 's  the  use  ?  She  '11  want  more, 
and  more,  and  more,  and  that  cormorant  Morgan  will 
swallow  all.  No,  dammy,  I  can't  afford  to  know  poor 
people ;  and  to-morrow  I  '11  say  good-by  —  to  Mrs. 
Brixham  and  Mr.  Morgan." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

IN   WHICH    THE    MAJOR    NEITHER    YIELDS  HIS 
MONEY  NOR  HIS  LIFE. 

Early  next  morning  Pendennis's  shntters  were 
opened  by  Morgan,  who  appeared  as  usual,  with,  a 
face  perfectly  grave  and  respectful,  bearing  with  him 
the  old  gentleman's  clothes,  cans  of  water,  and  elabo- 
rate toilet  requisites. 

"  It 's  you,  is  it  ?  "  said  the  old  fellow  from  his 
bed.  "  I  sha'n't  take  you  back  again,  you  under- 
stand." 

"  I  'ave  not  the  least  wish  to  be  took  back  agin, 
Major  Pendennis,"  Mr.  Morgan  said,  with  grave 
dignity,  "  nor  to  serve  you  nor  hany  man.  But  as 
I  wish  you  to  be  comf  table  as  long  as  you  stay  in 
my  house,  I  came  up  to  do  what 's  ne'ssary."  And 
once  more,  and  for  the  last  time,  Mr.  James  Morgan 
laid  out  the  silver  dressing-case,  and  strapped  the 
shining  razor. 

These  offices  concluded,  he  addressed  himself  to 
the  Major  with  an  indescribable  solemnity,  and  said : 
"  Thinkin'  that  you  would  most  likely  be  in  want  of 
a  respectable  pusson,  until  you  suited  yourself,  I 
spoke  to  a  young  man  last  night,  who  is  'ere." 

"  Indeed,"  said  the  warrior  in  the  tent  bed. 

"He  ?ave  lived  in  the  fust  fam'lies,  and  I  can 
wouch  for  his  respectability." 

"  You  are  monstrous  polite,"  grinned  the  old  Major. 
And  the  truth  is,  that  after  the  occurrences  of  the  pre* 


274 


PENDENNIS. 


vious  evening,  Morgan  had  gone  out  to  his  own  Club 
at  the  "  Wheel  of  Fortune,"  and  there  finding  Frosch, 
a  courier  and  valet  just  returned  from  a  foreign  tour 
with  young  Lord  Cubley,  and  for  the  present  dispos- 
able, had  represented  to  Mr.  Frosch,  that  he,  Morgan, 
had  had  "  a  devil  of  a  blow  hup  with  his  own  Gov'nor, 
and  was  goin'  to  retire  from  the  business  haltogether, 
and  that  if  Frosch  wanted  a  tempo'ry  job,  he  might 
prob'bly  have  it  by  applying  in  Bury  Street." 

"  You  are  very  polite,"  said  the  Major,  "  and  your 
recommendation,  I  am  sure,  will  have  every  weight." 

Morgan  blushed  ;  he  felt  his  master  was  "  a  chafnn' 
of  him."  "  The  man  have  awaited  on  you  before, 
sir,"  he  said  with  great  dignity.  "  Lord  de  la  Pole, 
sir,  gave  him  to  his  nephew  young  Lord  Cubley,  and 
he  have  been  with  him  on  his  foring  tour,  and  not 
wishing  to  go  to  Fitzurse  Castle,  which  Frosch's  chest 
is  delicate,  and  he  cannot  bear  the  cold  in  Scotland, 
he  is  free  to  serve  you  or  not,  as  you  choose." 

"  I  repeat,  sir,  that  you  are  exceedingly  polite," 
said  the  Major.  "Come  in,  Frosch  —  you  will  do 
very  well  —  Mr.  Morgan,  will  you  have  the  great 
kindness  to  —  " 

"  I  shall  show  him  what  is  ne'ssary,  sir,  and  what 
is  custom'ry  for  you  to  wish  to  'ave  done.  Will  you 
please  to  take  breakfast  'ere  or  at  the  Club,  Major 
Pendennis  ?  " 

"  With  your  kind  permission,  I  will  breakfast  here, 
and  afterwards  we  will  make  our  little  arrange- 
ments." 

"  If  you  please,  sir." 

"  Will  you  now  oblige  me  by  leaving  the  room  ?  " 

Morgan  withdrew ;  the  excessive  politeness  of  his 
ex-employer  made  him  almost  as  angry  as  the  Major's 
bitterest  words.    And  whilst  the  old  gentleman  ia 


PENDENNIS. 


275 


making  his  mysterious  toilet,  we  will  also  modestly 
retire. 

After  breakfast,  Major  Pendennis  and  his  new  aide- 
de-camp  occupied  themselves  in  preparing  for  their 
departure.  The  establishment  of  the  old  bachelor  was 
not  very  complicated.  He  encumbered  himself  with 
no  useless  wardrobe.  A  Bible  (his  mother's),  a  road- 
book, Pen's  novel  (calf  elegant),  and  the  Duke  of 
Wellington's  Despatches,  with  a  few  prints,  maps, 
and  portraits  of  that  illustrious  general,  and  of  vari- 
ous sovereigns  and  consorts  of  this  country,  and  of 
the  General  under  whom  Major  Pendennis  had  served 
in  India,  formed  his  literary  and  artistical  collection : 
he  was  always  ready  to  march  at  a  few  hours'  notice, 
and  the  cases  in  which  he  had  brought  his  property 
into  his  lodgings  some  fifteen  years  before,  were  still 
in  the  lofts  amply  sufficient  to  receive  all  his  goods. 
These,  the  young  woman  who  did  the  work  of  the 
house,  and  who  was  known  by  the  name  of  Betty  to 
her  mistress,  and  of  Slavey  to  Mr.  Morgan,  brought 
down  from  their  resting-place,  and  obediently  dusted 
and  cleaned  under  the  eyes  of  the  terrible  Morgan. 
His  demeanor  was  guarded  and  solemn;  he  had 
spoken  no  word  as  yet  to  Mrs.  Brixham  respecting 
his  threats  of  the  past  night,  but  he  looked  as  if  he 
would  execute  them,  and  the  poor  widow  tremblingly 
awaited  her  fate. 

Old  Pendennis,  armed  with  his  cane,  superintended 
the  package  of  his  goods  and  chattels,  under  the  hands 
of  Mr.  Frosch,  and  the  Slavey  burned  such  of  his 
papers  as  he  did  not  care  to  keep :  flung  open  doors 
and  closets  until  they  were  all  empty;  and  now  all 
boxes  and  chests  were  closed,  except  his  desk,  which 
was  ready  to  receive  the  final  accounts  of  Mr. 
Morgan. 


276 


PENDENNIS. 


That  individual  now  made  his  appearance,  and 
brought  his  books.  "  As  I  wish  to  speak  to  you  in 
privick,  per'aps  you  will  ?ave  the  kindness  to  request 
Froscb  to  step  down  stairs,"  he  said,  on  entering. 

"  Bring  a  couple  of  cabs,  Frosch,  if  you  please  — 
and  wait  down  stairs  until  I  ring  for  you,"  said  the 
Major.  Morgan  saw  Frosch  down  stairs,  watched 
him  go  along  the  street  upon  his  errand,  and  produced 
his  books  and  accounts,  which  were  simple  and  very 
easily  settled. 

"  And  now,  sir,"  said  he,  having  pocketed  the  check 
which  his  ex-employer  gave  him,  and  signed  his  name 
to  his  book  with  a  flourish,  "  and  now  that  accounts 
is  closed  between  us,  sir,"  he  said,  "I  porpose  to 
speak  to  you  as  one  man  to  another  "  (Morgan  liked 
the  sound  of  his  own  voice;  and,  as  an  individual, 
indulged  in  public  speaking  whenever  he  could  get 
an  opportunity,  at  the  Club,  or  the  housekeeper's 
room),  "  and  I  must  tell  you,  that  I 'm  in  possussion 
of  certing  infatuation" 

"  And  may  I  inquire  of  what  nature,  pray  ?  "  asked 
the  Major. 

"  It 's  valuble  information,  Major  Pendennis,  as  you 
know  very  well.  I  know  of  a  marriage  as  is  no  mar- 
riage —  of  a  honorable  Baronet  as  is  no  more  married 
than  I  am ;  and  which  his  wife  is  married  to  some- 
body else,  as  you  know  too,  sir." 

Pendennis  at  once  understood  all.  "  Ha !  this 
accounts  for  your  behavior.  You  have  been  listening 
at  the  door,  sir,  I  suppose,"  said  the  Major,  looking 
very  haughty  ;  "  I  forgot  to  look  at  the  key-hole  when 
I  went  to  that  public-house,  or  I  might  have  suspected 
what  sort  of  a  person  was  behind  it." 

"  I  may  have  my  schemes  as  you  may  have  yours, 
I  suppose,"  answered  Morgan.    "I  may  get  my  in- 


PENDENNIS. 


277 


formation,  and  I  may  act  on  that  information,  and  I 
may  find  that  information  valuble  as  anybody  else 
may.  A  poor  servant  may  have  a  bit  of  lnck  as  well 
as  a  gentleman,  may  n't  he  ?  Don't  you  be  putting 
on  your  'aughty  looks,  sir,  and  comin'  the  aristocrat 
over  me.  That 's  all  gammon  with  me.  I 'm  an 
Englishman,  I  am,  and  as  good  as  you." 

"  To  what  the  devil  does  this  tend,  sir  ?  and  how 
does  the  secret  which  you  have  surprised  concern  me, 
I  should  like  to  know  ? "  asked  Major  Pendennis, 
with  great  majesty. 

"  How  does  it  concern  me,  indeed  ?  how  grand  we 
are !  How  does  it  concern  my  nephew,  I  wonder  ? 
How  does  it  concern  my  nephew's  seat  in  Parlyment : 
and  to  subornation  of  bigamy  ?  How  does  it  concern 
that  ?  What,  are  you  to  be  the  only  man  to  have  a 
secret,  and  to  trade  on  it?  Why  shouldn't  I  go 
halves,  Major  Pendennis !  I  've  found  it  out  too. 
Look  here !  I  ain't  goin'  to  be  unreasonable  with  you. 
Make  it  worth  my  while,  and  I'll  keep  the  thing 
close.  Let  Mr.  Arthur  take  his  seat,  and  his  rich 
wife,  if  you  like ;  I  don't  want  to  marry  her.  But  I 
will  have  my  share,  as  sure  as  my  name's  James 
Morgan.    And  if  I  don't  —  " 

"  And  if  you  don't,  sir  —  what  ?  "  Pendennis  asked. 

"  If  I  don't,  I  split,  and  tell  all.  I  smash  Claver- 
ing,  and  have  him  and  his  wife  up  for  bigamy  —  so 
help  me,  I  will !  I  smash  young  Hopeful's  marriage, 
and  I  show  up  you  and  him  as  makin'  use  of  this 
secret,  in  order  to  squeeze  a  seat  in  Parlyment  out 
of  Sir  Francis,  and  a  fortune  out  of  his  wife." 

"Mr.  Pendennis  knows  no  more  of  this  business 
than  the  babe  unborn,  sir,"  cried  the  Major  aghast. 
"No  more  than  Lady  Clavering,  than  Miss  Amory 
does." 


273 


PENDENNIS. 


"Tell  that  to  the  marines,  Major,"  replied  the 
valet;  "that  cock  won't  fight  with  me." 

"  Do  you  doubt  my  word,  you  villain  ?  " 

"  No  bad  language.  I  don't  care  one  twopence'a'p'ny 
whether  your  word 's  true  or  not.  I  tell  you,  I  intend 
this  to  be  a  nice  little  annuity  to  me,  Major :  for  I 
have  every  one  of  you :  and  I  ain't  such  a  fool  as  to 
let  you  go.  I  should  say  that  you  might  make  it  five 
hundred  a-year  to  me  among  you,  easy.  Pay  me 
down  the  first  quarter  now,  and  I'm  as  mum  as  a 
mouse.  Just  give  me  a  note  for  one  twenty-five. 
There's  your  check-book  on  your  desk." 

"  And  there 's  this  too,  you  villain,"  cried  the  old 
gentleman.  In  the  desk  to  which  the  valet  pointed 
was  a  little  double-barrelled  pistol,  which  had  belonged 
to  Pendennis's  old  patron,  the  Indian  commander-in- 
chief,  and  which  had  accompanied  him  in  many  a 
campaign.  "  One  more  word,  you  scoundrel,  and  I  '11 
shoot  you,  like  a  mad  dog.  Stop  —  by  Jove,  I  '11  do  it 
now.  You  '11  assault  me,  will  you.  You  '11  strike  at 
an  old  man,  will  you,  you  lying  coward  ?  Kneel  down 
and  say  your  prayers,  sir,  for  by  the  Lord  you  shall 
die." 

The  Major's  face  glared  with  rage  at  his  adversary, 
who  looked  terrified  before  him  for  a  moment,  and  at 
the  next,  with  a  shriek  of  "  Murder ! "  sprang  towards 
the  open  window,  under  which  a  policeman  happened 
to  be  on  his  beat.  "Murder!  Police!"  bellowed  Mr. 
Morgan. 

To  his  surprise,  Major  Pendennis  wheeled  away  the 
table  and  walked  to  the  other  window,  which  was  also 
open.  He  beckoned  the  policeman.  "  Come  up  here, 
policeman,"  he  said,  and  then  went  and  placed  him- 
self against  the  door. 

"  You  miserable  sneak,"  he  said  to  Morgan ;  "  the 


A  Good  Shot. 


PENDEXXIS. 


279 


pistol  has  n't  been  loaded  these  fifteen  years,  as  you 
would  have  known  very  well,  if  you  had  not  been  such 
a  coward.  That  policeman  is  coming,  and  I  will  have 
him  up,  and  have  your  trunks  searched ;  I  have  reason 
to  believe  that  you  are  a  thief,  sir.  I  know  you  are. 
I  '11  swear  to  the  things." 

"You  gave  'em  to  me  —  you  gave  'em  to  me  ! "  cried 
Morgan. 

The  Major  laughed.  "We'll  see,"  he  said;  and 
the  guilty  valet  remembered  some  fine  lawn-fronted 
shirts  —  a  certain  gold-headed  cane  —  an  opera-glass, 
which  he  had  forgotten  to  bring  down,  and  of  which 
he  had  assumed  the  use  along  with  certain  articles  of 
his  master's  clothes,  which  the  old  dandy  neither 
wore  nor  asked  for. 

Policeman  X  entered ;  followed  by  the  scared  Mrs. 
Brixham  and  her  maid-of-all-work,  who  had  been  at 
the  door  and  found  some  difficulty  in  closing  it 
against  the  street  amateurs,  who  wished  to  see  the 
row.    The  Major  began  instantly  to  speak. 

"I  have  had  occasion  to  discharge  this  drunken 
scoundrel,"  he  said.  "  Both  last  night  and  this  morn- 
ing he  insulted  and  assaulted  me.  I  am  an  old  man 
and  took  up  a  pistol.  You  see  it  is  not  loaded,  and 
this  coward  cried  out  before  he  was  hurt.  I  am  glad 
you  are  come.  I  was  charging  him  with  taking  my 
property,  and  desired  to  examine  his  trunks  and  his 
room." 

"  The  velvet  cloak  you  ain't  worn  these  three  years, 
nor  the  weskits,  and  I  thought  I  might  take  the  shirts, 
and  I  —  I  take  my  hoath  I  intended  to  put  back  the 
hopera-glass,"  roared  Morgan,  writhing  with  rage  and 
terror. 

"  The  man  acknowledges  that  he  is  a  thief,"  the 
Major  said,  calmly.  "He  has  been  in  my  service  for 
years,  and  I  have  treated  him  with  every  kindness 


280 


PENDENNIS. 


and  confidence.  We  will  go  up-stairs  and  examine 
his  trunks." 

In  those  trunks  Mr.  Morgan  had  things  which  he 
would  fain  keep  from  public  eyes.  Mr.  Morgan,  the 
bill-discounter,  gave  goods  as  well  as  money  to  his 
customers.  He  provided  young  spendthrifts  with 
snuff-boxes  and  pins  and  jewels  and  pictures  and 
cigars,  and  of  a  very  doubtful  quality  those  cigars 
and  jewels  and  pictures  were.  Their  display  at  a 
police  office,  the  discovery  of  his  occult  profession, 
and  the  exposure  of  the  Major's  property,  which  he 
had  appropriated,  indeed,  rather  than  stolen,  —  would 
not  have  added  to  the  reputation  of  Mr.  Morgan.  He 
looked  a  piteous  image  of  terror  and  discomfiture. 

"He  '11  smash  me,  will  he?"  thought  the  Major. 
"  I  '11  crush  him  now,  and  finish  with  him." 

But  he  paused.  He  looked  at  poor  Mrs.  Brixham's 
scared  face ;  and  he  thought  for  a  moment  to  himself 
that  the  man  brought  to  bay  and  in  prison  might 
make  disclosures  which  had  best  be  kept  secret,  and 
that  it  was  best  not  to  deal  too  fiercely  with  a  des- 
perate man. 

"  Stop,"  he  said,  "  policeman.  I  '11  speak  with  this 
man  by  himself." 

"Do  you  give  Mr.  Morgan  in  charge?"  said  the 
policeman. 

"  I  have  brought  no  charge  as  yet,"  the  Major  said, 
with  a  significant  look  at  his  man. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  whispered  Morgan,  very  low. 

"  Go  outside  the  door,  and  wait  there,  policeman, 
if  you  please.  —  Now,  Morgan,  you  have  played  one 
game  with  me,  and  you  have  not  had  the  best  of  it, 
my  good  man.  No,  begad,  you  've  not  had  the  best 
of  it,  though  you  had  the  best  hand ;  and  you  've  got 
to  pay,  too,  now,  you  scoundrel." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  man. 


PENDENNIS. 


281 


"I've  only  found  out,  within  the  last  week,  the 
game  which  you  have  been  driving,  you  villain. 
Young  De  Boots  of  the  Blues,  recognized  you  as  the 
man  who  came  to  barracks,  and  did  business  one-third 
in  money,  one-third  in  eau-de-Cologne,  and  one-third 
in  French  prints,  you  confounded  demure  old  sinner ! 
I  didn't  miss  anything,  or  care  a  straw  what  you'd 
taken,  you  booby ;  but  I  took  the  shot,  and  it  hit  — 
hit  the  bull's-eye,  begad.  Dammy,  sir,  I'm  an  old 
campaigner." 

"  What  do  you  want  with  me,  sir  ?  " 

"I'll  tell  you.  Your  bills,  I  suppose,  you  keep 
about  you  in  that  dem'd  great  leather  pocket-book, 
don't  you?    You'll  burn  Mrs.  Brixham's  bill?" 

"Sir,  I  ain't  a  goin'  to  part  with  my  property," 
growled  the  man. 

"  You  lent  her  sixty  pounds  five  years  ago.  She 
and  that  poor  devil  of  an  insurance  clerk,  her  son 
have  paid  you  fifty  pounds  a-year  ever  since;  and 
you  have  got  a  bill  of  sale  of  her  furniture,  and  her 
note  of  hand  for  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds.  She 
told  me  so  last  night.  By  Jove,  sir,  you've  bled 
that  poor  woman  enough." 

"I  won't  give  it  up,"  said  Morgan.  "If  I  do 
I'm  " 

"  Policeman !  "  cried  the  Major. 

"  You  shall  have  the  bill,"  said  Morgan.  "  You  're 
not  going  to  take  money  of  me,  and  you  a  gentle- 
man ?  " 

"  I  shall  want  you  directly,"  said  the  Major  to  X, 
who  here  entered,  and  who  again  withdrew. 

"  No,  my  good  sir,"  the  old  gentleman  continued ; 
"  I  have  not  any  desire  to  have  farther  pecuniary  trans- 
actions with  you;  but  we  will  draw  out  a  little 
paper,  which  you  will  have  the  kindness  to  sign. 


282 


PENDENNIS. 


No,  stop !  —  you  shall  write  it :  you  have  improved 
immensely  in  writing  of  late,  and  have  now  a  very 
good  hand.  You  shall  sit  down  and  write,  if  you 
please  —  there,  at  that  table  —  so  —  let  me  see  —  we 
may  as  well  have  the  date.  Write  6  Bury  Street,  St. 
James's,  October  21,  18  —  .'  " 

And  Morgan  wrote  as  he  was  instructed,  and  as 
the  pitiless  old  Major  continued:  — 

"  I,  J ames  Morgan,  having  come  in  extreme  poverty 
into  the  service  of  Arthur  Pendennis,  Esquire,  of 
Bury  Street,  St.  James's,  a  Major  in  her  Majesty's 
service,  acknowledge  that  I  received  liberal  wages 
and  board  wages  from  my  employer,  during  fifteen 
years. — You  can't  object  to  that,  I  am  sure,"  said 
the  Major. 

"  During  fifteen  years,"  wrote  Morgan. 

"  In  which  time,  by  my  own  care  and  prudence,"  the 
dictator  resumed,  "  I  have  managed  to  amass  sufficient 
money  to  purchase  the  house  in  which  my  master  re- 
sides, and  besides  to  effect  other  savings.  Amongst 
other  persons  from  whom  I  have  had  money,  I  may 
mention  my  present  tenant,  Mrs.  Brixham,  who  in 
consideration  of  sixty  pounds  advanced  by  me  five 
years  since,  has  paid  back  to  me  the  sum  of  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  pounds  sterling,  besides  giving  me  a 
note  of  hand  for  one  hundred  and  twenty  pounds, 
which  I  restore  to  her  at  the  desire  of  my  late  mas- 
ter, Major  Arthur  Pendennis,  and  therewith  free  her 
furniture,  of  which  I  had  a  bill  of  sale.  —  Have 
you  written?" 

"  I  think  if  this  pistol  was  loaded,  I 'd  blow  your 
brains  out,"  said  Morgan. 

"  No,  you  would  n't.  You  have  too  great  a  respect 
for  your  valuable  life,  my  good  man,"  the  Major  an- 
swered.   "  Let  us  go  on  and  begin  a  new  sentence." 


PEN  DENNIS. 


283 


"And  having,  in  return  for  my  master's  kindness, 
stolen  his  property  from  him,  which  I  acknowledge 
to  be  now  tip-stairs  in  my  trunks  :  and  having  uttered 
falsehoods  regarding  his  and  other  honorable  families, 
I  do  hereby,  in  consideration  of  his  clemency  to  me, 
express  my  regret  for  uttering  these  falsehoods,  and 
for  stealing  his  property ;  and  declare  that  I  am  not 
worthy  of  belief,  and  that  I  hope  —  yes,  begad,  — 
that  I  hope  to  amend  for  the  future.  Signed,  James 
Morgan." 

"  I 'm  d — d  if  I  sign  it,"  said  Morgan. 

"  My  good  man,  it  will  happen  to  you,  whether  you 
sign  or  no,  begad,"  said  the  old  fellow,  chuckling  at 
his  own  wit.  "  There,  I  shall  not  use  this,  you  under- 
stand, unless  —  unless  I  am  compelled  to  do  so.  Mrs. 
Brixham,  and  our  friend  the  policeman,  will  witness 
it,  I  dare  say,  without  reading  it :  and  I  will  give  the 
old  lady  back  her  note  of  hand,  and  say,  which  you 
will  confirm,  that  she  and  you  are  quits.  I  see  there 
is  Frosch  come  back  with  the  cab  for  my  trunks  ;  I 
shall  go  to  an  hotel.  —  You  may  come  in  now,  police- 
man ;  Mr.  Morgan  and  I  have  arranged  our  little  dis- 
pute. If  Mrs.  Brixham  will  sign  this  paper,  and  you, 
policeman,  will  do  so,  I  shall  be  very  much  obliged  to 
you  both.  Mrs.  Brixham,  you  and  your  worthy  land- 
lord, Mr.  Morgan,  are  quits.  I  wish  you  joy  of  him. 
*Let  Frosch  come  and  pack  the  rest  of  the  things." 

Frosch,  aided  by  the  Slavey,  under  the  calm  super- 
intendence of  Mr.  Morgan,  carried  Major  Pendennis's 
boxes  to  the  cab  in  waiting  ;  and  Mrs.  Brixham,  when 
her  persecutor  was  not  by,  came  and  asked  a  Heaven's 
blessing  upon  the  Major,  her  preserver,  and  the  best 
and  quietest  and  kindest  of  lodgers.  And  having 
given  her  a  finger  to  shake,  which  the  humble  lady  re- 
ceived with  a  curtsy,  and  over  which  she  was  ready 


284 


PENDENNIS. 


to  make  a  speech  full  of  tears,  the  Major  cut  short 
that  valedictory  oration,  and  walked  out  of  the  house 
to  the  hotel  in  Jermyn  Street,  which  was  not  many 
steps  from  Morgan's  door. 

That  individual,  looking  forth  from  the  parlor- 
window,  discharged  anything  but  blessings  at  his 
parting  guest;  but  the  stout  old  boy  could  afford 
not  to  be  frightened  at  Mr.  Morgan,  and  flung  him  a 
look  of  great  contempt  and  humor  as  he  strutted  away 
with  his  cane. 

Major  Pendennis  had  not  quitted  his  house  of  Bury 
Street  many  hours,  and  Mr.  Morgan  was  enjoying  his 
otium  in  a  dignified  manner,  surveying  the  evening  fog, 
and  smoking  a  cigar,  on  the  doorsteps,  when  Arthur 
Pendennis,  Esq.,  the  hero  of  this  history,  made  his 
appearance  at  the  well-known  door. 

"  My  uncle  out,  I  suppose,  Morgan  ?  "  he  said  to 
the  functionary ;  knowing  full  well  that  to  smoke  was 
treason,  in  the  presence  of  the  Major. 

"  Major  Pendennis  is  hout,  sir,"  said  Morgan,  with 
gravity,  bowing,  but  not  touching  the  elegant  cap 
which  he  wore.  "  Major  Pendennis  have  left  this 
'ouse  to-day,  sir,  and  I  have  no  longer  the  honor  of 
being  in  his  service,  sir." 

"  Indeed,  and  where  is  he  ?  " 

"  I  believe  he  'ave  taken  tempor'y  lodgings  at  Cox's 
'otel,  in  Jummin  Street,"  said  Mr.  Morgan ;  and  added, 
after  a  pause,  "  Are  you  in  town  for  some  time,  pray, 
sir  ?  Are  you  in  chambers  ?  I  should  like  to  have 
the  honor  of  waiting  on  you  there  :  and  would  be 
thankful  if  you  would  favor  me  with  a  quarter  of  an 
hour." 

"  Do  you  want  my  uncle  to  take  you  back  ?  "  asked 
Arthur,  insolent  and  good-natured. 


PENDENNIS. 


285 


"  I  want  no  such  thing ;  I 'd  see  him  —  n  the  man 
glared  at  him  for  a  minute,  but  he  stopped.  "  No,  sir, 
thank  you,"  he  said  in  a  softer  voice ;  "  it 's  only  with 
you  that  I  wish  to  speak,  on  some  business  which  con- 
cerns you  ;  and  perhaps  you  would  favor  me  by  walk- 
ing into  my  house." 

"  If  it  is  but  for  a  minute  or  two,  I  will  listen  to 
you,  Morgan,"  said  Arthur ;  and  thought  to  himself, 
"  I  suppose  the  fellow  wants  me  to  patronize  him  ;  " 
and  he  entered  the  house.  A  card  was  already  in  the 
front  windows,  proclaiming  that  apartments  were  to 
be  let,  and  having  introduced  Mr.  Pendennis  into  the 
dining-room,  and  offered  him  a  chair,  Mr.  Morgan  took 
one  himself,  and  proceeded  to  convey  some  informa- 
tion to  him,  of  which  the  reader  has  already  had 
cognizance. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


IN  WHICH  PENDENNIS  COUNTS  HIS  EGGS. 

Our  friend  had  arrived  in  London  on  that  day  only, 
though  but  for  a  brief  visit,  and  having  left  some  fel- 
low travellers  at  an  hotel  to  which  he  had  convoyed 
them  from  the  West,  he  hastened  to  the  chambers  in 
Lamb  Court,  which  were  basking  in  as  much  sun  as 
chose  to  visit  that  dreary  but  not  altogether  comfort- 
less building.  Freedom  stands  in  lieu  of  sunshine  in 
chambers ;  and  Templars  grumble,  but  take  their  ease 
in  their  Inn.  Pen's  domestic  announced  to  him  that 
Warrington  was  in  chambers  too,  and,  of  course,  Arthur 
ran  up  to  his  friend's  room  straightway,  and  found  it, 
as  of  old,  perfumed  with  the  pipe,  and  George  once 
more  at  work  at  his  newspapers  and  reviews.  The 
pair  greeted  each  other  with  the  rough  cordiality 
which  young  Englishmen  use  one  to  another :  and 
which  carries  a  great  deal  of  warmth  and  kindness 
under  its  rude  exterior.  Warrington  smiled  and  took 
his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth,  and  said,  "Well,  young 
one ! "  Pen  advanced  and  held  out  his  hand,  and  said, 
"  How  are  you,  old  boy  ? "  And  so  this  greeting 
passed  between  two  friends  who  had  not  seen  each 
other  for  months.  Alphonse  and  Frederic  would  have 
rushed  into  each  other's  arms  and  shrieked  Ce  bon 
cceur  t  ce  cher  Alphonse  /  over  each  other's  shoulders. 
Max  and  Wilhelm  would  have  bestowed  half  a  dozen 
kisses,  scented  with  Havana,  upon  each  other's  mus- 
tachios.    "  Well,  young  one  ! "    "  How  are  you,  old 


PENDEXXIS. 


287 


boy  ?  "  is  what  two  Britons  say :  after  saving  each 
other's  lives,  possibly,  the  day  before.  To-morrow 
they  will  leave  off  shaking  hands,  and  only  wag  their 
heads  at  one  another  as  they  come  to  breakfast.  Each 
has  for  the  other  the  very  warmest  confidence  and  re- 
gard ;  each  would  share  his  purse  with  the  other :  and 
hearing  him  attacked,  would  break  out  in  the  loudest 
and  most  enthusiastic  praise  of  his  friend ;  but  they 
part  with  a  mere  Good-by,  they  meet  with  a  mere  How- 
d'-you-do  ?  and  they  don't  write  to  each  other  in  the 
interval.  Curious  modesty,  strange  stoical  decorum 
of  English  friendship!  "Yes,  we  are  not  demonstra- 
tive like  those  confounded  foreigners,"  says  Hard- 
man  ;  who  not  only  shows  no  friendship,  but  never 
felt  any  all  his  life  long. 

"Been  in  Switzerland?"  says  Pen.  "Yes,"  says 
Warrington.  "  Could  n't  find  a  bit  of  tobacco  fit  to 
smoke  till  we  came  to  Strasburg,  where  I  got  some 
caporal."  The  man's  mind  is  full,  very  likely,  of  the 
great  sights  which  he  has  seen,  of  the  great  emotions 
with  which  the  vast  works  of  nature  have  inspired  it. 
But  his  enthusiasm  is  too  coy  to  show  itself,  even  to 
his  closest  friend,  and  he  veils  it  with  a  cloud  of 
tobacco.  He  will  speak  more  fully  of  confidential 
evenings,  however,  and  write  ardently  and  frankly 
about  that  which  he  is  shy  of  saying.  The  thoughts 
and  experience  of  his  travel  will  come  forth  in  his 
writings  ;  as  the  learning,  which  he  never  displays 
in  talk,  enriches  his  style  with  pregnant  allusion  and 
brilliant  illustration,  colors  his  generous  eloquence, 
and  points  his  wit. 

The  elder  gives  a  rapid  account  of  the  places  which 
he  has  visited  in  his  tour.  He  has  seen  Switzerland, 
North  Italy,  and  the  Tyrol  —  he  has  come  home  by 
Vienna,  and  Dresden,  and  the  Rhine.    He  speaks 


288 


PENDENNIS. 


about  these  places  in  a  shy  sulky  voice,  as  if  he  had 
rather  not  mention  them  at  all,  and  as  if  the  sight  of 
them  had  rendered  him  very  unhappy.  The  outline 
of  the  elder  man's  tour  thus  gloomily  sketched  out, 
the  young  one  begins  to  speak.  He  has  been  in  the 
country  —  very  much  bored  —  canvassing  —  uncom- 
monly slow  —  he  is  here  for  a  day  or  two,  and  going 
on  to  —  to  the  neighborhood  of  Tunbridge  Wells,  to 
some  friends  —  that  will  be  uncommonly  slow,  too. 
How  hard  it  is  to  make  an  Englishmen  acknowledge 
that  he  is  happy ! 

"  And  the  seat  in  Parliament,  Pen  ?  Have  you 
made  it  all  right  ?  "  asks  Warrington. 

"All  right, —  as  soon  as  Parliament  meets  and  a 
new  writ  can  be  issued,  Clavering  retires,  and  I  step 
into  his  shoes,"  says  Pen. 

"And  under  which  king  does  Bezonian  speak  or 
die  ? "  asked  Warrington.  "  Do  we  come  out  as 
Liberal  Conservative,  or  as  Government  man,  or  on 
our  own  hook  ?  " 

"  Hem  !  There  are  no  politics  now  ;  every  man's 
politics,  at  least,  are  pretty  much  the  same.  I  have 
not  got  acres  enough  to  make  me  a  Protectionist ;  nor 
could  I  be  one,  I  think,  if  I  had  all  the  land  in  the 
country.  I  shall  go  pretty  much  with  Government, 
and  in  advance  of  them  upon  some  social  questions 
which  I  have  been  getting  up  during  the  vacation ;  — 
don't  grin,  you  old  Cynic,  I  have  been  getting  up  the 
Blue  Books,  and  intend  to  come  out  rather  strong  on 
the  Sanitary  and  Colonization  questions." 

"We  reserve  to  ourselves  the  liberty  of  voting 
against  Government,  though  we  are  generally  friendly. 
We  are,  however,  friends  of  the  people  avant  tout. 
We  give  lectures  at  the  Clavering  Institute,  and 
shake  hands  with  the  intelligent  mechanics.  We 


PENDENNIS. 


289 


think  the  franchise  ought  to  be  very  considerably 
enlarged;  at  the  same  time  we  are  free  to  accept 
office  some  day,  when  the  House  has  listened  to  a  few 
crack  speeches  from  us,  and  the  Administration  per- 
ceives our  merit." 

"  I  am  not  Moses,"  said  Pen,  with,  as  usual  some- 
what of  melancholy  in  his  voice.  "  I  have  no  laws 
from  Heaven  to  bring  down  to  the  people  from  the 
mountain.  I  dWt  belong  to  the  mountain  at  all,  or  set 
up  to  be  a  leader  and  reformer  of  mankind.  My  faith 
is  not  strong  enough  for  that ;  nor  my  vanity,  nor  my 
hypocrisy,  great  enough.  I  will  tell  no  lies,  George, 
that  I  promise  you ;  and  do  no  more  than  coincide  in 
those  which  are  necessary  and  pass  current,  and  can't 
be  got  in  without  recalling  the  whole  circulation. 
Give  a  man  at  least  the  advantage  of  his  sceptical 
turn.  If  I  find  a  good  thing  to  say  in  the  House,  I 
will  say  it ;  a  good  measure,  I  will  support  it ;  a  fair 
place,  I  will  take  it,  and  be  glad  of  my  luck.  But  I 
would  no  more  flatter  a  great  man  than  a  mob ;  and 
now  you  know  as  much  about  my  politics  as  I  do. 
What  call  have  I  to  be  a  Whig  ?  Whiggism  is  not  a 
divine  institution.  Why  not  vote  with  the  Liberal 
Conservatives  ?  They  have  done  for  the  nation  what 
the  Whigs  would  never  have  done  without  them. 
Who  converted  both  ?  —  the  Radicals  and  the  country 
outside.  I  think  the  1  Morning  Post '  is  often  right, 
and  '  Punch  '  is  often  wrong.  I  don't  profess  a  call,  but 
take  advantage  of  a  chance.    Parlons  d'autre  chose." 

u  The  next  thing  at  your  heart,  after  ambition,  is 
love,  I  suppose  ?  "  Warrington  said.  "  How  have  our 
young  loves  prospered  ?  Are  we  going  to  change  our 
condition,  and  give  up  our  chambers  ?  Are  you 
going  to  divorce  me,  Arthur,  and  take  unto  yourself  a 
wife  ?  " 


290 


PENDENNIS. 


"I  suppose  so.  She  is  very  good-natured  and 
lively.  She  sings,  and  she  don't  mind  smoking. 
She  '11  have  a  fair  fortune  —  I  don't  know  how  much 
—  but  my  uncle  augurs  everything  from  the  Begum's 
generosity,  and  says  that  she  will  come  down  very 
handsomely.  And  I  think  Blanche  is  dev'lish  fond  of 
me,"  said  Arthur,  with  a  sigh. 

"  That  means  that  we  accept  her  caresses  and  her 
money." 

"Haven't  we  said  before,  that  life  was  a  trans- 
action ?  "  Pendennis  said.  "  I  don't  pretend  to  break 
my  heart  about  her.  I  have  told  her  pretty  fairly 
what  my  feelings  are  —  and  —  and  have  engaged  my- 
self to  her.  And  since  I  saw  her  last,  and  for  the 
last  two  months  especially,  whilst  I  have  been  in  the 
country,  I  think  she  has  been  growing  fonder  and 
fonder  of  me ;  and^  her  letters  to  me,  and  especially 
to  Laura,  seem  to  show  it.  Mine  have  been  simple 
enough  —  no  raptures  nor  vows,  you  understand  — 
but  looking  upon  the  thing  as  an  affaire  faite ;  and 
not  desirous  to  hasten  or  defer  the  completion." 

"  And  Laura  ?  how  is  she  ? "  Warrington  asked 
frankly. 

"  Laura,  George,"  said  Pen,  looking  his  friend  hard 
in  the  face  —  "by  Heaven,  Laura  is  the  best,  and 
noblest,  and  dearest  girl  the  sun  ever  shone  upon." 
His  own  voice  fell  as  he  spoke :  it  seemed  as  if  he 
could  hardly  utter  the  words :  he  stretched  out  his 
hand  to  his  comrade,  who  took  it  and  nodded  his 
head. 

"  Have  you  only  found  out  that  now,  young  un  ?  " 
Warrington  said  after  a  pause. 

"  Who  has  not  learned  things  too  late,  George  ?  " 
cried  Arthur,  in  his  impetuous  way,  gathering  words 
and  emotion  as  he  went  on.    "Whose  life  is  not  a 


PENDENNIS. 


291 


disappointment  ?  Who  carries  his  heart  entire  to  the 
grave  without  a  mutilation  ?  I  never  knew  anybody 
who  was  happy  quite  :  or  who  has  not  had  to  ransom 
himself  out  of  the  hands  of  Fate  with  the  payment  of 
some  dearest  treasure  or  other.  Lucky  if  we  are  left 
alone  afterwards,  when  we  have  paid  our  fine,  and  if 
the  tyrant  visits  us  no  more.  Suppose  I  have  found 
out  that  I  have  lost  the  greatest  prize  in  the  world, 
now  that  it  can't  be  mine  —  that  for  years  I  had  an 
angel  under  my  tent,  and  let  her  go  ?  —  am  I  the  only 
one  —  ah,  dear  old  boy,  am  I  the  only  one  ?  And  do 
you  think  my  lot  is  easier  to  bear  because  I  own  that 
I  deserve  it  ?  She 's  gone  from  us.  God's  blessing 
be  with  her !  She  might  have  stayed,  and  I  lost  her ; 
it 's  like  Undine  :  is  n't  it,  George  ?  " 

"  She  was  in  this  room,  once,"  said  George. 

He  saw  her  there  —  he  heard  the  sweet  low  voice 

—  he  saw  the  sweet  smile  and  eyes  shining  so  kindly 

—  the  face  remembered  so  fondly  —  thought  of  in 
what  night-watches  —  blessed  and  loved  always  —  gone 
now !  A  glass  that  had  held  a  nosegay  —  a  Bible 
with  Helen's  handwriting  —  were  all  that  were  left 
him  of  that  brief  flower  of  his  life.  Say  it  is  a 
dream :  say  it  passes :  better  the  recollection  of  a 
dream  than  an  aimless  waking  from  a  blank  stupor. 

The  two  friends  sat  in  silence  awhile,  each  occupied 
with  his  own  thoughts  and  aware  of  the  other's.  Pen 
broke  it  presently,  by  saying  that  he  must  go  and 
seek  for  his  uncle,  and  report  progress  to  the  old 
gentleman.  The  Major  had  written  in  a  very  bad 
humor ;  the  Major  was  getting  old.  "  I  should  like 
to  see  you  in  Parliament,  and  snugly  settled  with  a 
comfortable  house  and  an  heir  to  the  name  before  I 
make  my  bow.  Show  me  these,"  the  Major  wrote, 
"  and  then,  let  old  Arthur  Pendennis  make  room  for 


292 


PENDENNIS. 


the  younger  fellows ;  he  has  walked  the  Pall  Mall 

pave  long  enough." 

"  There  is  a  kindness  about  the  old  heathen,"  said 
Warrington.  "He  cares  for  somebody  besides  him- 
self, at  least  for  some  other  part  of  himself  besides 
that  which  is  buttoned  into  his  own  coat ;  —  for  you 
and  your  race.  He  would  like  to  see  the  progeny  of 
the  Pendennises  multiplying  and  increasing,  and 
hopes  that  they  may  inherit  the  land.  The  old  patri- 
arch blesses  you  from  the  Club  window  of  Bays's,  and 
is  carried  off  and  buried  under  the  flags  of  St.  J ames's 
Church,  in  sight  of  Piccadilly,  and  the  cab-stand,  and 
the  carriages  going  to  the  levee.  It  is  an  edifying 
ending." 

"The  new  blood  I  bring  into  the  family,"  mused 
Pen,  "  is  rather  tainted.  If  I  had  chosen,  I  think  my 
father-in-law  Amory  would  not  have  been  the  progen- 
itor I  should  have  desired  for  my  race;  nor  my 
grandfather-in-law  Snell;  nor  our  oriental  ancestors. 
By  the  way,  who  was  Amory  ?  Amory  was  lieutenant 
of  an  Indiaman.  Blanche  wrote  some  verses  about 
him,  —  about  the  storm,  the  mountain  wave,  the  sea- 
man's grave,  the  gallant  father,  and  that  sort  of  thing. 
Amory  was  drowned  commanding  a  country  ship  be- 
tween Calcutta  and  Sydney ;  Amory  and  the  Begum 
weren't  happy  together.  She  has  been  unlucky  in 
her  selection  of  husbands,  the  good  old  lady,  for, 
between  ourselves,  a  more  despicable  creature  than 
Sir  Prances  Clavering,  of  Clavering  Park,  Baronet, 
never  —  " 

"  Never  legislated  for  his  country,"  broke  in  War- 
rington ;  at  which  Pen  blushed  rather. 

"  By  the  way,  at  Baden,"  said  Warrington,  "  I  found 
our  friend  the  Chevalier  Strong  in  great  state,  and 
wearing  his  orders.    He  told  me  that  he  had  quarrelled 


PENDENNIS. 


293 


with  Clavering,  of  whom  he  seemed  to  have  almost  as 
bad  an  opinion  as  you  have,  and  in  fact,  I  think, 
though  I  will  not  be  certain,  confided  to  me  his 
opinion,  that  Clavering  was  an  utter  scoundrel.  That 
fellow  Blounclell,  who  taught  you  card-playing  at 
Oxbridge,  was  with  Strong ;  and  time,  I  think,  has 
brought  out  his  valuable  qualities,  and  rendered  him 
a  more  accomplished  rascal  than  he  was  during  your 
undergraduateship.  But  the  king  of  the  place  was 
the  famous  Colonel  Altamont,  who  was  carrying  all 
before  him,  giving  fetes  to  the  whole  society,  and 
breaking  the  bank,  it  was  said." 

"My  uncle  knows  something  about  that  fellow  — 
Clavering  knows  something  about  him.  There 's 
something  louche  regarding  him.  But  come  !  I  must 
go  to  Bury  Street,  like  a  dutiful  nephew."  And,  tak- 
ing his  hat,  Pen  prepared  to  go. 

"  I  will  walk,  too,"  said  Warrington.  And  they  de- 
scended the  stairs,  stopping,  however,  at  Pen's  cham- 
bers, which,  as  the  reader  has  been  informed,  were  now 
on  the  lower  story. 

Here  Pen  began  sprinkling  himself  with  eau-de- 
Cologne,  and  carefully  scenting  his  hair  and  whiskers 
with  that  odoriferous  water. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  You  Ve  not  been  smoking. 
Is  it  my  pipe  that  has  poisoned  you  ?  "  growled  War- 
rington. 

"I  am  going  to  call  upon  some  women,"  said 
Pen.  "  I 'm  —  I 'm  going  to  dine  with  'em.  They 
are  passing  through  town,  and  are  at  an  hotel  in 
Jermyn  Street." 

Warrington  looked  with  good-natured  interest  at 
the  young  fellow  dandifying  himself  up  to  a  pitch  of 
completeness  ;  and  appearing  at  length  in  a  gorgeous 
shirt-front  and  neck-cloth,  fresh  gloves,  and  glistening 


294 


PENDENNIS. 


boots.  George  had  a  pair  of  thick  high-lows,  and  his 
old  shirt  was  torn  about  the  breast,  and  ragged  at  the 
collar,  where  his  blue  beard  had  worn  it. 

"  Well,  young  mi,"  said  he,  simply,  "  I  like  you  to 
be  a  buck,  somehow.  When  I  walk  about  with  you, 
it  is  as  if  I  had  a  rose  in  my  button-hole.  And  you 
are  still  affable.  I  don't  think  there  is  any  young 
fellow  in  the  Temple  turns  out  like  you  ;  and  I  don't 
believe  you  were  ever  ashamed  of  walking  with  me 
yet." 

"  Don't  laugh  at  me,  George,"  said  Pen. 

"  I  say,  Pen,"  continued  the  other,  sadly,  "  if  you 
write  —  if  you  write  to  Laura,  I  wish  you  would  say 
'  God  bless  her 9  from  me." 

Pen  blushed ;  and  then  looked  at  Warrington  ;  and 
then  —  and  then  burst  into  an  uncontrollable  fit  of 
laughing 

"  I 'm  going  to  dine  with  her,"  he  said.  "  I  brought 
her  and  Lady  Rockminster  up  from  the  country  to- 
day —  made  two  days  of  it  —  slept  last  night  at  Bath 
—  I  say,  George,  come  and  dine,  too.  I  may  ask  any 
one  I  please,  and  the  old  lady  is  constantly  talking 
about  you." 

George  refused.  George  had  an  article  to  write. 
George  hesitated ;  and  oh,  strange  to  say !  at  last  he 
agreed  to  go.  It  was  agreed  that  they  should  go  and 
call  upon  the  ladies  ;  and  they  marched  away  in  high 
spirits  to  the  hotel  in  Jermyn  Street.  Once  more 
the  dear  face  shone  upon  him ;  once  more  the  sweet 
voice  spoke  to  him,  and  the  tender  hand  pressed  a 
welcome. 

There  still  wanted  half  an  hour  to  dinner.  "  You 
will  go  and  see  your  uncle  now,  Mr.  Pendennis,"  old 
Lady  Rockminster  said.  "  You  will  not  bring  him  to 
dinner  —  no — his  old  stories  are  intolerable;  and  I 


PENDENNIS. 


295 


want  to  talk  to  Mr.  Warrington ;  I  dare  say  he  will 
amuse  us.  I  think  we  have  heard  all  your  stories. 
We  have  been  together  for  two  whole  days,  and  I 
think  we  are  getting  tired  of  each  other." 

So,  obeying  her  ladyship's  orders,  Arthur  went 
down-stairs  and  walked  to  his  uncle's  lodgings. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

FIAT  JUSTITIA. 

The  dinner  was  served  when  Arthur  returned,  and 
Lady  Rockminster  began  to  scold  him  for  arriving 
late.  But  Laura,  looking  at  her  cousin,  saw  that  his 
face  was  so  pale  and  scared  that  she  interrupted  her 
imperious  patroness ;  and  asked,  with  tender  alarm, 
what  had  happened  ?    Was  Arthur  ill  ? 

Arthur  drank  a  large  bumper  of  sherry.  "  I  have 
heard  the  most  extraordinary  news ;  I  will  tell  you 
afterwards,"  he  said,  looking  at  the  servants.  He 
was  very  nervous  and  agitated  during  the  dinner. 
"  Don't  tramp  and  beat  so  with  your  feet  under  the 
table,"  Lady  Rockminster  said.  "  You  have  trodden 
on  Fido  and  upset  his  saucer.  You  see  Mr.  Warring- 
ton keeps  his  boots  quiet." 

At  the  dessert — it  seemed  as  if  the  unlucky  dinner 
would  never  be  over  —  Lady  Rockminster  said,  "This 
dinner  has  been  exceedingly  stupid.  I  suppose  some- 
thing has  happened,  and  that  you  want  to  speak  to 
Laura.  I  will  go  and  have  my  nap.  I  am  not  sure 
that  I  shall  have  any  tea  —  no.  Good-night,  Mr. 
Warrington.  You  must  come  again,  and  when  there 
is  no  business  to  talk  about."  And  the  old  lady,  toss- 
ing up  her  head,  walked  away  from  the  room  with 
great  dignity. 

George  and  the  others  had  risen  with  her,  and 
Warrington  was  about  to  go  away,  and  was  saying 
"  Good-night "  to  Laura,  who,  of  course,  was  looking 


PENDENNIS. 


297 


much  alarmed  about  her  cousin,  when  Arthur  said, 
"  Pray,  stay,  George.  You  should  hear  my  news  too, 
and  give  me  your  counsel  in  this  case.  I  hardly 
know  how  to  act  in  it." 

"  It's  something  about  Blanche,  Arthur,"  said  Laura, 
her  heart  beating,  and  her  cheek  blushing,  as  she 
thought  it  had  never  blushed  in  her  life. 

"Yes  —  and  the  most  extraordinary  story,"  said 
Pen.  "  When  I  left  you  to  go  to  my  uncle's  lodgings, 
I  found  his  servant,  Morgan,  who  has  been  with  him 
so  long,  at  the  door,  and  he  said  that  he  and  his  mas- 
ter had  parted  that  morning;  that  my  uncle  had 
quitted  the  house,  and  had  gone  to  an  hotel  —  this 
hotel.  I  asked  for  him  when  I  came  in ;  but  he  was 
gone  out  to  dinner.  Morgan  then  said  that  he  had 
something  of  a  most  important  nature  to  communicate 
to  me,  and  begged  me  to  step  into  the  house ;  his 
house  it  is  now.  It  appears  the  scoundrel  has  saved 
a  great  deal  of  money  whilst  in  my  uncle's  service, 
and  is  now  a  capitalist  and  a  millionnaire,  for  what 
I  know.  Well,  I  went  into  the  house,  and  what  do 
you  think  he  told  me?  This  must  be  a  secret  be- 
tween us  all  —  at  least  if  we  can  keep  it,  now  that 
it  is  in  possession  of  that  villain.  Blanche's  father  is 
not  dead.  He  has  come  to  life  again.  The  marriage 
between  Clavering  and  the  Begum  is  no  marriage." 

"And  Blanche,  I  suppose,  is  her  grandfather's 
heir  ?  "  said  WTarrington. 

"  Perhaps  :  but  the  child  of  what  a  father !  Amory 
is  an  escaped  convict  —  Clavering  knows  it ;  my  uncle 
knows  it  —  and  it  was  with  this  piece  of  information 
held  over  Clavering  in  terrorem  that  the  wretched  old 
man  got  him  to  give  up  his  borough  to  me." 

"  Blanche  does  n't  know  it,"  said  Laura,  "  nor  poor 
Lady  Clavering  ?  " 


298 


PENDENNIS. 


"  No,"  said  Pen ;  "  Blanche  does  not  even  know  the 
history  of  her  father.  She  knew  that  he  and  her 
mother  had  separated,  and  had  heard  as  a  child,  from 
Bonner,  her  nurse,  that  Mr.  Amory  was  drowned  in 
New  South  Wales.  He  was  there  as  a  convict,  not  as 
a  ship's  captain,  as  the  poor  girl  thought.  Lady 
Clavering  has  told  me  that  they  were  not  happy,  and 
that  her  husband  was  a  bad  character.  She  would 
tell  me  all,  she  said,  some  day :  and  I  remember  her 
saying  to  me,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  that  it  was  hard 
for  a  woman  to  be  forced  to  own  that  she  was  glad  to 
hear  her  husband  was  dead:  and  that  twice  in  her 
life  she  should  have  chosen  so  badly.  What  is  to  be 
done  now  ?  The  man  can't  show  and  claim  his  wife : 
death  is  probably  over  him  if  he  discovers  himself : 
return  to  transportation  certainly.  But  the  rascal 
has  held  the  threat  of  discovery  over  Clavering  for 
some  time  past,  and  has  extorted  money  from  him 
time  after  time." 

"  It  is  our  friend  Colonel  Altamont,  of  course,"  said 
Warrington :  "  I  see  all  now." 

"If  the  rascal  comes  back,"  continued  Arthur, 
"  Morgan,  who  knows  his  secret,  will  use  it  over  him 
—  and  having  it  in  his  possession,  proposes  to  extort 
money  from  us  all.  The  d — d  rascal  supposed  I  was 
cognizant  of  it,"  said  Pen,  white  with  anger ;  "  asked 
me  if  I  would  give  him  an  annuity  to  keep  it  quiet ; 
threatened  me,  me,  as  if  I  was  trafficking  with  this 
wretched  old  Begum's  misfortune ;  and  would  extort 
a  seat  in  Parliament  out  of  that  miserable  Clavering. 
Good  heavens !  was  my  uncle  mad,  to  tamper  in  such 
a  conspiracy  ?  Fancy  our  mother's  son,  Laura,  trad- 
ing on  such  a  treason ! " 

"  I  can't  fancy  it,  dear  Arthur,"  said  Laura  j  seiz- 
ing Arthur's  hand,  and  kissing  it. 


PENDENNIS. 


299 


"  No  !  "  broke  out  Warrington's  deep  voice,  with,  a 
tremor ;  he  surveyed  the  two  generous  and  loving 
young  people  with  a  pang  of  indescribable  love  and 
pain.  "No.  Our  boy  can't  meddle  with  such  a 
wretched  intrigue  as  that.  Arthur  Pendennis  can't 
marry  a  convict's  daughter  ;  and  sit  in  Parliament  as 
Member  for  the  hulks.  You  must  wash  your  hands 
of  the  whole  affair,  Pen.  You  must  break  off.  You 
must  give  no  explanations  of  why  and  wherefore,  but 
state  that  family  reasons  render  a  match  impossible. 
It  is  better  that  those  poor  women  should  fancy  you 
false  to  your  word  than  that  they  should  know  the 
truth.  Besides,  you  can  get  from  that  dog  Clavering 
—  I  can  fetch  that  for  you  easily  enough  —  an  ac- 
knowledgment that  the  reasons  which  you  have 
given  to  him  as  the  head  of  the  family  are  amply 
sufficient  for  breaking  off  the  union.  Don't  you  think 
with  me,  Laura  ?  "  He  scarcely  dared  to  look  her  in 
the  face  as  he  spoke.  Any  lingering  hope  that  he 
might  have  —  any  feeble  hold  that  he  might  feel  upon 
the  last  spar  of  his  wrecked  fortune,  he  knew  he  was 
casting  away ;  and  he  let  the  wave  of  his  calamity 
close  over  him.  Pen  had  started  up  whilst  he  was 
speaking,  looking  eagerly  at  him.  He  turned  hi3 
head  away.  He  saw  Laura  rise  up  also  and  go  to 
Pen,  and  once  more  take  his  hand  and  kiss  it.  "  She 
thinks  so  too  —  G-od  bless  her !  "  said  George. 

"  Her  father's  shame  is  not  Blanche's  fault,  dear 
Arthur,  is  it  ?  "  Laura,  said,  very  pale,  and  speaking 
very  quickly.  "  Suppose  you  had  been  married, 
would  you  desert  her  because  she  had  done  no  wrong? 
Are  you  not  pledged  to  her  ?  Would  you  leave  her 
because  she  is  in  misfortune  ?  And  if  she  is  un- 
happy, would  n't  you  console  her  ?  Our  mother 
would,  had  she  been  here."    And,  as  she  spoke,  the 


300 


PENDENNIS. 


kind  girl  folded  her  arms  round  him,  and  buried  her 
face  upon  his  heart. 

"Our  mother  is  an  angel  with  God,"  Pen  sobbed 
out.  "  And  you  are  the  dearest  and  best  of  women  — 
the  dearest,  the  dearest,  and  the  best.  Teach  me  my 
duty.  Pray  for  me  that  I  ma}'  do  it  —  pure  heart. 
God  bless  you  —  God  bless  you,  my  sister." 

"  Amen,"  groaned  out  Warrington,  with  his  head 
in  his  hands.  "  She  is  right,"  he  murmured  to  him- 
self. "  She  can't  do  any  wrong,  I  think  —  that  girl." 
Indeed,  she  looked  and  smiled  like  an  angel.  Many 
a  day  after,  he  saw  that  smile  —  saw  her  radiant  face 
as  she  looked  up  at  Pen  —  saw  her  putting  back  her 
curls,  blushing  and  smiling,  and  still  looking  fondly 
towards  him. 

She  leaned  for  a  moment  her  little  fair  hand  on  the 
table,  playing  on  it.  "  And  now,  and  now,"  she  said, 
looking  at  the  two  gentlemen  — 

"  And  what  now  ?  "  asked  George. 

"And  now  we  will  have  some  tea,"  said  Miss 
Laura,  with  her  smile. 

But  before  this  unromantic  conclusion  to  a  rather 
sentimental  scene  could  be  suffered  to  take  place,  a 
servant  brought  word  that  Major  Pendennis  had  re- 
turned to  the  hotel,  and  was  waiting  to  see  his 
nephew.  Upon  this  announcement,  Laura,  not  with- 
out some  alarm,  and  an  appealing  look  at  Pen,  which 
said,  "  behave  yourself  well  —  hold  to  the  right,  and 
do  your  duty  —  be  gentle,  but  firm  with  your  uncle  " 
—  Laura,  we  say,  with  these  warnings  written  in  her 
face,  took  leave  of  the  two  gentlemen,  and  retreated 
to  her  dormitory.  Warrington,  who  was  not  generally 
fond  of  tea,  yet  grudged  that  expected  cup  very  much. 
Why  could  not  old  Pendennis  have  come  in  an  hour 


PENDENNIS. 


301 


later  ?  Well,  an  hour  sooner  or  later,  what  matter  ? 
The  hour  strikes  at  last.  The  inevitable  moment 
comes  to  say  Farewell.  The  hand  is  shaken,  the  door 
closed,  and  the  friend  gone  ;  and,  the  brief  joy  over, 
you  are  alone.  "  In  which  of  those  many  windows  of 
the  hotel  does  her  light  beam  ?  "  perhaps  he  asks 
himself  as  he  passes  down  the  street.  He  strides 
away  to  the  smoking-room  of  a  neighboring  Club,  and 
there  applies  himself  to  his  usual  solace  of  a  cigar. 
Men  are  brawling  and  talking  loud  about  politics, 
opera-girls,  horse-racing,  the  atrocious  tyranny  of  the 
committee ;  —  bearing  this  sacred  secret  about  him, 
he  enters  into  this  brawl.  Talk  away,  each  louder 
than  the  other.  Rattle  and  crack  jokes.  Laugh  and 
tell  your  wild  stories.  It  is  strange  to  take  one's 
place  and  part  in  the  midst  of  the  smoke  and  din,  and 
think  every  man  here  has  his  secret  ego  most  likely, 
which  is  sitting  lonely  and  apart,  away  in  the  private 
chamber,  from  the  loud  game  in  which  the  rest  of  us 
is  joining ! 

Arthur,  as  he  traversed  the  passages  of  the  hotel, 
felt  his  anger  rousing  up  within  him.  He  was  indig- 
nant to  think  that  yonder  old  gentleman  whom  he 
was  about  to  meet,  should  have  made  him  such  a  tool 
and  puppet,  and  so  compromised  his  honor  and  good 
name.  The  old  fellow's  hand  was  very  cold  and 
shaky  when  Arthur  took  it.  He  was  coughing;  he 
was  grumbling  over  the  fire  ;  Frosch  could  not  bring 
his  dressing-gown  or  arrange  his  papers  as  that  d — d 
confounded  impudent  scoundrel  of  a  Morgan.  The 
old  gentleman  bemoaned  himself,  and  cursed  Mor- 
gan's ingratitude  with  peevish  pathos. 

"  The  confounded  impudent  scoundrel !  He  was 
drunk  last  night,  and  challenged  me  to  fight  him, 
Pen :  and  begad,  at  one  time  I  was  so  excited  that  I 


302 


PENDENNIS. 


thought  I  should  have  driven  a  knife  into  him ;  and 
the  infernal  rascal  has  made  ten  thousand  pound,  I 
believe  —  and  deserves  to  be  hanged,  and  will  be; 
but,  curse  him  !  I  wish  he  could  have  lasted  out  my 
time.  He  knew  all  my  ways,  and,  dammy,  when  I 
rang  the  bell,  the  confounded  thief  brought  the  thing 
I  wanted  —  not  like  that  stupid  German  lout.  And 
what  sort  of  time  have  you  had  in  the  country  ? 
Been  a  good  deal  with  Lady  Rockminster?  You 
can't  do  better.  She  is  one  of  the  old  school  —  vieille 
ecole,  bonne  ecole,  hey  ?  Dammy,  they  don't  make 
gentlemen  and  ladies  now  ;  and  in  fifty  years  you  '11 
hardly  know  one  man  from  another.  But  they'll 
last  my  time.  I  ain't  long  for  this  business :  I  am 
getting  very  old,  Pen,  my  boy ;  and,  gad,  I  was  think- 
ing to-day,  as  I  was  packing  up  my  little  library, 
there 's  a  Bible  amongst  the  books  that  belonged  to 
my  poor  mother ;  I  would  like  you  to  keep  that,  Pen. 
I  was  thinking,  sir,  that  you  would  most  likely  open 
the  box  when  it  was  your  property,  and  the  old  fellow 
was  laid  under  the  sod,  sir."  And  the  Major  coughed 
and  wagged  his  old  head  over  the  fire. 

His  age  —  his  kindness,  disarmed  Pen's  anger  some- 
what, and  made  Arthur  feel  no  little  compunction  for 
the  deed  which  he  was  about  to  do.  He  knew  that 
the  announcement  which  he  was  about  to  make 
would  destroy  the  darling  hope  of  the  old  gentleman's 
life,  and  create  in  his  breast  a  woful  anger  and 
commotion. 

"  Hey  —  hey  —  I 'm  off,  sir,"  nodded  the  Elder ; 
"but  I'd  like  to  read  a  speech  of  yours  in  the 
4  Times '  before  I  go  —  '  Mr.  Pendennis  said :  Unac- 
customed as  I  am  to  public  speaking '  —  hey,  sir  ? 
hey,  Arthur?  Begad,  you  look  dev'lish  well  and 
healthy,  sir.    I  always  said  my  brother  J ack  would 


PEXDENNIS. 


303 


bring  the  family  right.  You  must  go  down  into  the 
West,  and  buy  the  old  estate,  sir.  Nee  tenui  pennd, 
hey  ?    We  '11  rise  again,  sir  —  rise  again  on  the  wing 

—  and,  begad,  I  should  n't  be  surprised  that  you  will 
be  a  Baronet  before  you  die." 

His  words  smote  Pen.  "  And  it  is  I,"  he  thought, 
"  that  am  going  to  fling  down  the  poor  old  fellow's  air- 
castle.  Well,  it  must  be.  Here  goes.  —  I  — I  went 
into  your  lodgings  at  Bury  Street,  though  I  did  not 
find  you,"  Pen  slowly  began  —  "  and  I  talked  with 
Morgan,  Uncle." 

"  Indeed !  "  The  old  gentleman's  cheek  began  to 
flush  involuntarily,  and  he  muttered,  "  The  cat 's  out 
of  the  bag  now,  begad ! " 

"  He  told  me  a  story,  sir,  which  gave  me  the  deepest 
surprise  and  pain,"  said  Pen. 

The  Major  tried  to  look  unconcerned.  "What — - 
that  story  about  —  about  What-do-you-call-'em,  hey  ?  " 

"  About  Miss  Amory's  father  —  about  Lady  Cover- 
ing's first  husband,  and  who  he  is,  and  what." 

"  Hem  —  a  devilish  awkward  affair  ! "  said  the  old 
man,  rubbing  his  nose.   "I  —  I 've  been  aware  of  that 

—  eh  —  confounded  circumstance  for  some  time." 

"  I  wish  I  had  known  it  sooner,  or  not  at  all,"  said 
Arthur,  gloomily. 

"He  is  all  safe,"  thought  the  Senior,  greatly 
relieved.  "  Gad !  I  should  have  liked  to  keep  it 
from  you  altogether  —  and  from  those  two  poor 
women,  who  are  as  innocent  as  unborn  babes  in  the 
transaction." 

"  You  are  right.  There  is  no  reason  why  the  two 
women  should  hear  it ;  and  I  shall  never  tell  them  — 
though  that  villain,  Morgan,  perhaps  may,"  Arthur 
said,  gloomily.  "  He  seems  disposed  to  trade  upon 
his  secret,  and  has  already  proposed  terms  of  ransom 


304 


PENDENNIS. 


to  me.  I  wish  I  had  known  of  the  matter  earlier,  sir. 
It  is  not  a  very  pleasant  thought  to  me  that  I  am  en- 
gaged to  a  convict's  daughter." 

"The  very  reason  why  I  kept  it  from  you  —  my 
dear  boy.  But  Miss  Amory  is  not  a  convict's  daugh- 
ter, don't  you  see  ?  Miss  Amory  is  the  daughter  of 
Lady  Clavering,  with  fifty  or  sixty  thousand  pounds 
for  a  fortune ;  and  her  father-in-law,  a  Baronet  and 
country  gentleman,  of  high  reputation,  approves  of 
the  match,  and  gives  up  his  seat  in  Parliament  to  his 
son-in-law.    What  can  be  more  simple  ?  " 

"  Is  it  true,  sir  ?  " 

"  Begad,  yes,  it  is  true,  of  course  it 's  true.  Amory's 
dead.  I  tell  you  he  is  dead.  The  first  sign  of  life  he 
shows,  he  is  dead.  He  can't  appear.  We  have  him 
at  a  dead-lock,  like  the  fellow  in  the  play  — 1  The  Critic,' 
hey  ?  —  devilish  amusing  play,  that  Critic'  Mon- 
strous witty  man  Sheridan ;  and  so  was  his  son.  By 
gad,  sir,  when  I  was  at  the  Cape,  I  remember  —  " 

The  old  gentleman's  garrulity,  and  wish  to  conduct 
Arthur  to  the  Cape,  perhaps  arose  from  a  desire  to 
avoid  the  subject  which  was  nearest  his  nephew's 
heart ;  but  Arthur  broke  out,  interrupting  him  —  "  If 
you  had  told  me  this  tale  sooner,  I  believe  you  would 
have  spared  me  and  yourself  a  great  deal  of  pain  and 
disappointment ;  and  I  should  not  have  found  myself 
tied  to  an  engagement  from  which  I  can't  in  honor, 
recede." 

"  No,  begad,  we 've  fixed  you  —  and  a  man  who 's 
fixed  to  a  seat  in  Parliament,  and  a  pretty  girl,  with  a 
couple  of  thousand  a-year,  is  fixed  to  no  bad  thing, 
let  me  tell  you,"  said  the  old  man. 

"  Great  Heaven,  sir  !  "  said  Arthur  ;  "  are  you 
blind  ?    Can't  you  see  ?  " 

"  See  what,  young  gentleman  ?  "  asked  the  other. 


PENDENNIS. 


305 


•'See,  that  rather  than  trade  upon  this  secret  of 
Amory's,"  Arthur  cried  out,  "  I  would  go  and  join  my 
father-in-law  at  the  hulks  !  See,  that  rather  than  take 
a  seat  in  Parliament  as  a  bribe  from  Clavering  for 
silence,  I  would  take  the  spoons  off  the  table  !  See, 
that  you  have  given  me  a  felon's  daughter  for  a  wife  ; 
doomed  me  to  poverty  and  shame ;  cursed  my  career 
when  it  might  have  been  —  when  it  might  have  been 
so  different  but  for  you  !  Don't  you  see  that  we 
have  been  playing  a  guilty  game,  and  have  been  over- 
reached ;  —  that  in  offering  to  marry  this  poor  girl, 
for  the  sake  of  her  money,  and  the  advancement  she 
would  bring,  I  was  degrading  myself,  and  prostituting 
my  honor  ?  " 

"  What  in  Heaven's  name  do  you  mean,  sir  ? " 
cried  the  old  man. 

"  I  mean  to  say  that  there  is  a  measure  of  baseness 
which  I  can't  pass,"  Arthur  said.  "  I  have  no  other 
words  for  it,  and  am  sorry  if  they  hurt  you.  I  have 
felt,  for  months  past,  that  my  conduct  in  this  affair 
has  been  wicked,  sordid,  and  worldly.  I  am  rightly 
punished  by  the  event,  and  having  sold  myself  for 
money  and  a  seat  in  Parliament,  by  losing  both." 

"  How  do  you  mean  that  you  lose  either  ?  "  shrieked 
the  old  gentleman.  "Who  the  devil's  to  take  your 
fortune  or  your  seat  away  from  you?  By  G — , 
Clavering  shall  give  'em  to  you.  You  shall  have 
every  shilling  of  eighty  thousand  pounds." 

"I'll  keep  my  promise  to  Miss  Amory,  sir,"  said 
Arthur. 

"  And,  begad,  her  parents  shall  keep  theirs  to  you." 

"  Not  so,  please  God,"  Arthur  answered.  "  I  have 
sinned,  but,  Heaven  help  me,  I  will  sin  no  more.  I 
will  let  Clavering  off  from  that  bargain  which  was 
made  without  my  knowledge.    I  will  take  no  monev 


306 


PENDENNIS. 


with  Blanche  but  that  which  was  originally  settled 
upon  her ;  and  I  will  try  to  make  her  happy.  You 
have  done  it.  You  have  brought  this  on  me,  sir. 
But  you  knew  no  better:  and  I  forgive  — n 

"  Arthur  —  in  God's  name  —  in  your  father's,  who, 
by  heavens,  was  the  proudest  man  alive,  and  had  the 
honor  of  the  family  always  at  heart  —  in  mine  —  for 
the  sake  of  a  poor  broken-down  old  fellow,  who  has 
always  been  dev'lish  fond  of  you  —  don't  fling  this 
chance  away — I  pray  you,  I  beg  you,  I  implore  you, 
my  dear,  dear  boy,  don't  fling  this  chance  away.  It 's 
the  making  of  you.  You  're  sure  to  get  on.  You  '11  be 
a  Baronet ;  it 's  three  thousand  a-year  :  dammy,  on  my 
knees,  there,  I  beg  of  you,  don't  do  this." 

And  the  old  man  actually  sank  down  on  his  knees, 
and  seizing  one  of  Arthur's  hands,  looked  up  piteously 
at  him.  It  was  cruel  to  remark  the  shaking  hands, 
the  wrinkled  and  quivering  face,  the  old  eyes  weeping 
and  winking,  the  broken  voice.  "Ah,  sir,"  said 
Arthur,  with  a  groan,  "  you  have  brought  pain  enough 
on  me,  spare  me  this.  You  have  wished  me  to  marry 
Blanche.  I  marry  her.  For  God's  sake,  sir,  rise  !  I 
can't  bear  it." 

"  You  —  you  mean  to  say  that  you  will  take  her  as 
a  beggar,  and  be  one  yourself  ?  "  said  the  old  gentle- 
man, rising  up  and  coughing  violently. 

"  I  look  at  her  as  a  person  to  whom  a  great  calamity 
has  befallen,  and  to  whom  I  am  promised.  She  can- 
not help  the  misfortune;  and  as  she  had  my  word 
when  she  was  prosperous,  I  shall  not  withdraw  it  now 
she  is  poor.  I  will  not  take  Clavering's  seat,  unless 
afterwards  it  should  be  given  of  his  free  will.  I  will 
not  have  a  shilling  more  than  her  original  fortune." 

"  Have  the  kindness  to  ring  the  bell,"  said  the  old 
gentleman.    "  I  have  done  my  best,  and  said  my  say ; 


PENDENNIS. 


307 


and  I  'm  a  dev'lish  old  fellow.  And  —  and  —  it  don't 
matter.  And  —  and  Shakspeare  was  right  —  and 
Cardinal  Wolsey  —  begad  —  'and  had  I  bnt  served 
my  God  as  I  've  served  you '  —  yes,  on  my  knees,  by 
Jove,  to  my  own  nephew  —  I  might  n't  have  been  — 
Good-night,  sir,  you  need  n't  trouble  yourself  to  call 
again." 

Arthur  took  his  hand,  which  the  old  man  left  to 
him ;  it  was  quite  passive  and  clammy.  He  looked 
very  much  oldened ;  and  it  seemed  as  if  the  contest 
and  defeat  had  quite  broken  him. 

On  the  next  day  he  kept  his  bed,  and  refused  to  see 
his  nephew. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


IN  WHICH  THE  DECKS  BEGIN  TO  CLEAR. 

When,  arrayed  in  his  dressing-gown,  Pen  walked 
up,  according  to  custom,  to  Warrington's  chambers 
next  morning,  to  inform  his  friend  of  the  issue 
of  the  last  night's  interview  with  his  uncle,  and  to 
ask,  as  usual,  for  George's  advice  and  opinion,  Mrs. 
Flanagan,  the  laundress,  was  the  only  person  whom 
Arthur  found  in  the  dear  old  chambers.  George  had 
taken  a  carpet-bag,  and  was  gone.  His  address  was 
to  his  brother's  house  in  Suffolk.  Packages,  addressed 
to  the  newspaper  and  review  for  which  he  wrote,  lay 
on  the  table,  awaiting  delivery. 

"  I  found  him  at  the  table,  when  I  came,  the  dear 
gentleman!"  Mrs.  Flanagan  said,  "writing  at  his 
papers,  and  one  of  the  candles  was  burned  out ;  and 
hard  as  his  bed  is,  he  was  n't  in  it  all  night,  sir." 

Indeed,  having  sat  at  the  Club  until  the  brawl  there 
became  intolerable  to  him,  George  had  walked  home, 
and  had  passed  the  night  finishing  some  work  on  which 
he  was  employed,  and  to  the  completion  of  which  he 
bent  himself  with  all  his  might.  The  labor  was  done, 
and  the  night  was  worn  away  somehow,  and  the  tardy 
November  dawn  came  and  looked  in  on  the  young 
man  as  he  sat  over  his  desk.  In  the  next  day's  paper, 
or  quarter's  review,  many  of  us  very  likely  admired 
the  work  of  his  genius,  the  variety  of  his  illustration, 
the  fierce  vigor  of  his  satire,  the  depth  of  his  reason. 
There  was  no  hint  in  his  writing  of  the  other  thoughts 


PENDENNIS. 


309 


which  occupied  him,  and  always  accompanied  him  in 
his  work :  a  tone  more  melancholy  than  was  custom- 
ary, a  satire  more  bitter  and  impatient  than  that 
which  he  afterwards  showed,  may  have  marked  the 
writings  of  this  period  of  his  life  to  the  very  few  per- 
sons who  knew  his  style  or  his  name.  We  have  said 
before,  could  we  know  the  man's  feelings  as  well  as 
the  author's  thoughts  —  how  interesting  most  books 
would  be  !  —  more  interesting  than  merry.  I  suppose 
harlequin's  face  behind  his  mask  is  always  grave,  if 
not  melancholy  —  certainly,  each  man  who  lives  by 
the  pen,  and  happens  to  read  this,  must  remember,  if 
he  will,  his  own  experiences,  and  recall  many  solemn 
hours  of  solitude  and  labor.  What  a  constant  care 
sat  at  the  side  of  the  desk  and  accompanied  him ! 
Fever  or  sickness  were  lying  possibly  in  the  next 
room :  a  sick  child  might  be  there,  with  a  wife  watch- 
ing over  it  terrified  and  in  prayer ;  or  grief  might  be 
bearing  him  down,  and  the  cruel  mist  before  the  eyes 
rendering  the  paper  scarce  visible  as  he  wrote  on  it, 
and  the  inexorable  necessity  drove  on  the  pen.  What 
man  among  us  has  not  had  nights  and  hours  like 
these  ?  But  to  the  manly  heart  —  severe  as  these 
pangs  are,  they  are  endurable :  long  as  the  night 
seems,  the  dawn  comes  at  last,  and  the  wounds  heal, 
and  the  fever  abates,  and  rest  comes,  and  you  can 
afford  to  look  back  on  the  past  misery  with  feelings 
that  are  anything  but  bitter. 

Two  or  three  books  for  reference,  fragments  of 
torn-up  manuscript,  drawers  open,  pens  and  inkstand, 
lines  half  visible  on  the  blotting-paper,  a  bit  of  seal- 
ing-wax twisted  and  bitten  and  broken  into  sundry 
pieces  —  such  relics  as  these  were  about  the  table,  and 
Pen  flung  himself  down  in  George's  empty  chair  — 
noting  things  according  to  his  wont,  or  in  spite  of 


310 


PENDENNIS. 


himself.  There  was  a  gap  in  the  book-case  (next  to 
the  old  College  Plato,  with  the  Boniface  Arms),  where 
Helen's  Bible  used  to  be.  He  has  taken  that  with 
him,  thought  Pen.  He  knew  why  his  friend  was 
gone.     Dear,  dear  old  George  ! 

Pen  rubbed  his  hand  over  his  eyes.  Oh,  how  much 
wiser,  how  much  better,  how  much  nobler  he  is  than 
I,  he  .thought.  Where  was  such  a  friend,  or  such  a 
brave  heart  ?  Where  shall  I  ever  hear  such  a  frank 
voice,  and  kind  laughter?  Where  shall  I  ever  see 
such  a  true  gentleman  ?  No  wonder  she  loved  him. 
God  bless  him  !  What  was  I  compared  to  him  ?  What 
could  she  do  else  but  love  him  ?  To  the  end  of  our 
days  we  will  be  her  brothers,  as  fate  wills  that  we 
can  be  no  more.  We  '11  be  her  knights,  and  wait  on 
her ;  and  when  we  're  old,  we  '11  say  how  we  loved 
her.    Dear,  dear  old  George  ! 

Wrhen  Pen  descended  to  his  own  chambers,  his  eye 
fell  on  the  letter-box  of  his  outer  door,  which  he  had 
previously  overlooked,  and  there  was  a  little  note  to 
A.  P.,  Esq.,  in  George's  well-known  handwriting, 
George  had  put  into  Pen's  box  probably  as  he  was 
going  away. 

"  Dear  Pen,  —  I  shall  be  half  way  home  when  you  breakfast, 
and  intend  to  stay  over  Christmas,  in  Suffolk,  or  elsewhere. 

"  I  have  my  own  opinion  of  the  issue  of  matters  about  which 

we  talked  in  J  Street  yesterday  ;  and  think  my  presence 

de  trop. 

"  Vale.  G.  W. 

"  Give  my  very  best  regards  and  adieux  to  your  cousin." 

And  so  George  was  gone,  and  Mrs.  Flanagan,  the 
laundress,  ruled  over  his  empty  chambers. 

Pen  of  course  had  to  go  and  see  his  uncle  on  the  day 
after  their  colloquy ;  and  not  being  admitted,  he  natu- 


PENDENNIS. 


311 


rally  went  to  Lady  Rockminster's  apartments,  where 
the  old  lady  instantly  asked  for  Bluebeard,  and  in- 
sisted that  he  should  come  to  dinner. 

"  Bluebeard  is  gone,"  Pen  said,  and  he  took  out  poor 
George's  scrap  of  paper,  and  handed  it  to  Laura,  who 
looked  at  it  —  did  not  look  at  Pen  in  return,  but 
passed  the  paper  back  to  him,  and  walked  away. 
Pen  rushed  into  an  eloquent  eulogium  upon  his  dear 
old  George  to  Lady  Rockminster,  who  was  astonished 
at  his  enthusiasm.  She  had  never  heard  him  so 
warm  in  praise  of  anybody ;  and  told  him,  with  her 
usual  frankness,  that  she  did  n't  think  it  had  been  in 
his  nature  to  care  so  much  about  any  other  person. 

As  Mr.  Pendennis  was  passing  through  Waterloo 
Place,  in  one  of  his  many  walks  to  the  hotel  where 
Laura  lived,  and  whither  duty  to  his  uncle  carried 
Arthur  every  day,  he  saw  issuing  from  Messrs.  Gim- 
crack's  celebrated  shop  an  old  friend,  who  was  fol- 
lowed to  his  brougham  by  an  obsequious  shopman 
bearing  parcels.  The  gentleman  was  in  the  deepest 
mourning;  the  brougham,  the  driver,  and  the  horse, 
were  in  mourning.  Grief  in  easy  circumstances,  and 
supported  by  the  comfortablest  springs  and  cushions, 
was  typified  in  the  equipage  and  the  little  gentleman, 
its  proprietor. 

"What,  Foker!  Hail,  Poker !"  cried  out  Pen — 
the  reader,  no  doubt,  has  likewise  recognized  Arthur's 
old  schoolfellow  —  and  he  held  out  his  hand  to  the 
heir  of  the  late  lamented  John  Henry  Foker,  Esq., 
the  master  of  Logwood  and  other  houses,  the  princi- 
pal partner  in  the  great  brewery  of  Foker  &  Co. :  the 
greater  portion  of  Foker's  Entire. 

A  little  hand,  covered  with  a  glove  of  the  deepest 
ebony,  and  set  off  by  three  inches  of  a  snowy  wrist- 
band, was  put  forth  to  meet  Arthur's  salutation.  The 


312 


PENDENNIS. 


other  little  hand  held  a  little  morocco  case,  contain* 
ing,  no  doubt,  something  precious,  of  which  Mr.  Foker 
had  just  become  proprietor  in  Messrs.  Gimcrack's 
shop.  Pen's  keen  eyes  and  satiric  turn  showed  him 
at  once  upon  what  errand  Mr.  Foker  had  been  em- 
ployed ;  and  he  thought  of  the  heir  in  Horace  pouring 
forth  the  gathered  wine  of  his  father's  vats ;  and  that 
human  nature  is  pretty  much  the  same  in  Regent 
Street  as  in  the  Via  Sacra. 

"  Le  Roi  est  mort.    Vive  le  Eoi ! "  said  Arthur. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  other.  "  Yes.  Thank  you  —  very 
much  obliged.  How  do  you  do,  Pen  ?  —  very  busy  — - 
good-by ! "  and  he  jumped  into  the  black  brougham, 
and  sat  like  a  little  black  Care  behind  the  black 
coachman.  He  had  blushed  on  seeing  Pen,  and  shown 
other  signs  of  guilt  and  perturbation,  which  Pen 
attributed  to  the  novelty  of  his  situation;  and  on 
which  he  began  to  speculate  in  his  usual  sardonic 
manner. 

"  Yes  :  so  wags  the  world,"  thought  Pen.  "  The 
stone  closes  over  Harry  the  Fourth,  and  Harry  the 
Fifth  reigns  in  his  stead.  The  old  ministers  at 
the  brewery  come  and  kneel  before  him  with  their 
books  ;  the  draymen,  his  subjects,  fling  up  their  red 
caps,  and  shout  for  him.  What  a  grave  deference 
and  sympathy  the  bankers  and  the  lawyers  show ! 
There  was  too  great  a  stake  at  issue  between  those 
two  that  they  should  ever  love  each  other  very  cor- 
dially. As  long  as  one  man  keeps  another  out  of 
twenty  thousand  a-year,  the  younger  must  be  always 
hankering  after  the  crown,  and  the  wish  must  be  the 
father  to  the  thought  of  possession.  Thank  Heaven, 
there  was  no  thought  of  money  between  me  and  our 
dear  mother,  Laura." 

"There  never  could  have  been.    You  would  have 


PENDENNIS. 


313 


spurned  it ! "  cried  Laura.  "  Why  make  yourself 
more  selfish  than  you  are,  Pen ;  and  allow  your  mind 
to  own,  for  an  instant,  that  it  would  have  entertained 
such  —  such  dreadful  meanness  ?  You  make  me  blush 
for  you,  Arthur:  you  make  me — "  her  eyes  finished 
this  sentence,  and  she  passed  her  handkerchief  across 
them. 

"There  are  some  truths  which  women  will  never 
acknowledge,"  Pen  said,  "  and  from  which  your  mod- 
esty always  turns  away.  I  do  not  say  that  I  never 
knew  the  feeling,  only  that  I  am  glad  I  had  not  the 
temptation.  Is  there  any  harm  in  that  confession  of 
weakness  ?  " 

"  We  are  all  taught  to  ask  to  be  delivered  from  evil, 
Arthur,"  said  Laura,  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  am  glad  if 
you  were  spared  from  that  great  crime ;  and  only 
sorry  to  think  that  you  could  by  any  possibility  have 
been  led  into  it.  But  you  never  could ;  and  you  don't 
think  you  could.  Your  acts  are  generous  and  kind : 
you  disdain  mean  actions.  You  take  Blanche  without 
money,  and  without  a  bribe.  Yes,  thanks  be  to 
Heaven,  dear  brother.  You  could  not  have  sold 
yourself  away ;  I  knew  you  could  not  when  it  came 
to  the  day,  and  you  did  not.  Praise  be  —  be  where 
praise  is  due.  Why  does  this  horrid  scepticism  pur- 
sue you,  my  Arthur  ?  Why  doubt  and  sneer  at  your 
own  heart  —  at  every  one's  ?  Oh,  if  you  knew  the 
pain  you  give  me  —  how  I  lie  awake  and  think  of 
those  hard  sentences,  dear  brother,  and  wish  them 
unspoken,  unthought ! " 

"  Do  I  cause  you  many  thoughts  and  many  tears, 
Laura  ? "  asked  Arthur.  The  fulness  of  innocent 
love  beamed  from  her  in  reply.  A  smile  heavenly 
pure,  a  glance  of  unutterable  tenderness,  sympathy, 
pity,  shone  in  her  face  —  all  which  indications  of  love 


314 


PENDENNIS. 


and  purity  Arthur  beheld  and  worshipped  in  her,  as 
you  would  watch  them  in  a  child,  as  one  fancies  one 
might  regard  them  in  an  angel. 

"I  —  I  don't  know  what  I  have  done,"  he  said, 
simply,  "  to  have  merited  such  regard  from  two  such 
women.  It  is  like  undeserved  praise,  Laura  —  or  too 
much  good  fortune,  which  frightens  one  —  or  a  great 
post,  when  a  man  feels  that  he  is  not  fit  for  it.  Ah, 
sister,  how  weak  and  wicked  we  are ;  how  spotless, 
and  full  of  love  and  truth,  Heaven  made  you !  I 
think  for  some  of  you  there  has  been  no  fall,"  he 
said,  looking  at  the  charming  girl  with  an  almost 
paternal  glance  of  admiration.  "You  can't  help 
having  sweet  thoughts,  and  doing  good  actions. 
Dear  creature !  They  are  the  flowers  which  you 
bear." 

"  And  what  else,  sir  ?  "  asked  Laura.  "  I  see  a 
sneer  coming  over  your  face.  What  is  it  ?  Why 
does  it   come,  to   drive   all  the   good  thoughts 

away  ?  " 

"  A  sneer,  is  there  ?  I  was  thinking,  my  dear, 
that  nature  in  making  you  so  good  and  loving  did 
very  well :  but  —  " 

"  But  what  ?  What  is  that  wicked  but  ?  and  why 
are  you  always  calling  it  up  ?  " 

"  But  will  come  in  spite  of  us.  But  is  reflection. 
But  is  the  sceptic's  familiar,  with  whom  he  has  made 
a  compact ;  and  if  he  forgets  it,  and  indulges  in 
happy  day-dreams,  or  building  of  air-castles,  or  listens 
to  sweet  music  let  us  say,  or  to  the  bells  ringing  to 
church,  But  taps  at  the  door,  and  says,  Master,  I  am 
here.  You  are  my  master ;  but  I  am  yours.  Go 
where  you  will,  you  can't  travel  without  me.  I  will 
whisper  to  you  when  you  are  on  your  knees  at  church. 
I  will  be  at  your  marriage  pillow.    I  will  sit  down  at 


PENDENNIS. 


315 


your  table  with  your  children.  I  will  be  behind  your 
death-bed  curtain.    That  is  what  But  is,"  Pen  said. 

"  Pen,  you  frighten  me,"  cried  Laura. 

"  Do  you  know  what  But  came  and  said  to  me  just 
now,  when  I  was  looking  at  you  ?  But  said,  If  that 
girl  had  reason  as  well  as  love,  she  would  love  you 
no  more.  If  she  knew  you  as  you  are  —  the  sullied, 
selhsh  being  which  you  know  —  she  must  part  from 
you,  and  could  give  you  no  love  and  no  sympathy. 
Did  n?t  I  say,"  he  added,  fondly,  "  that  some  of  you 
seem  exempt  from  the  fall  ?  Love  you  know ;  but 
the  knowledge  of  evil  is  kept  from  you." 

"  What  is  this  you  young  folks  are  talking  about  ?  " 
asked  Lady  Rockminster,  who  at  this  moment  made 
her  appearance  in  the  room,  having  performed,  in  the 
mystic  retirement  of  her  own  apartments,  and  under 
the  hands  of  her  attendant,  those  elaborate  toilet- 
rites  without  which  the  worthy  old  lady  never  pre- 
sented herself  to  public  view.  "  Mr.  Pendennis,  you 
are  always  coming  here." 

"  It  is  very  pleasant  to  be  here,"  Arthur  said  :  "  and 
we  were  talking,  when  you  came  in,  about  my  friend 
Foker,  whom  I  met  just  now  ;  and  who,  as  your  lady- 
ship knows,  has  succeeded  to  his  father's  kingdom." 

"  He  has  a  very  fine  property,  he  has  fifteen  thou- 
sand a-year.  He  is  my  cousin.  He  is  a  very  worthy 
young  man.  He  must  come  and  see  me,"  said  Lady 
Rockminster,  with  a  look  at  Laura. 

"  He  has  been  engaged  for  many  years  past  to  his 
cousin,  Lady  —  " 

"  Lady  Ann  is  a  foolish  little  chit,"  Lady  Rock- 
minster said,  with  much  dignity  :  "  and  I  have  no 
patience  with  her.  She  has  outraged  every  feeling 
of  society.  She  has  broken  her  father's  heart,  and 
thrown  away  fifteen  thousand  a-year." 


316 


PENDENNIS. 


"  Thrown  away  !  What  has  happened  ?  "  asked 
Pen. 

"  It  will  be  the  talk  of  the  town  in  a  day  or  two ; 
and  there  is  no  need  why  I  should  keep  the  secret 
any  longer,"  said  Lady  Eockminster,  who  had  writ- 
ten and  received  a  dozen  letters  on  the  subject.  "  I 
had  a  letter  yesterday  from  my  daughter,  who  was 
staying  at  Drummington  until  all  the  world  was 
obliged  to  go  away  on  account  of  the  frightful  catas- 
trophe which  happened  there.  When  Mr.  Foker 
came  home  from  Nice,  and  after  the  funeral,  Lady 
Ann  went  down  on  her  knees  to  her  father,  said  that 
she  never  could  marry  her  cousin,  that  she  had  con- 
tracted another  attachment,  and  that  she  must  die 
rather  than  fulfil  her  contract.  Poor  Lord  Kosher- 
ville,  who  is  dreadfully  embarrassed,  showed  his 
daughter  what  the  state  of  his  affairs  was,  and  that 
it  was  necessary  that  the  arrangements  should  take 
place;  and,  in  fine,  we  all  supposed  that  she  had 
listened  to  reason,  and  intended  to  comply  with  the 
desires  of  her  family.  But  what  has  happened  — 
last  Thursday  she  went  out  after  breakfast  with  her 
maid,  and  was  married  in  the  very  church  in  Drum- 
mington Park  to  Mr.  Hobson,  her  father's  own  chap- 
lain and  her  brother's  tutor,  a  red-haired  widower 
with  two  children.  Poor  dear  Rosherville  is  in  a 
dreadful  way :  he  wishes  Henry  Foker  should  marry 
Alice  or  Barbara ;  but  Alice  is  marked  with  the 
small-pox,  and  Barbara  is  ten  years  older  than  he  is. 
And,  of  course,  now  the  young  man  is  his  own  master, 
he  will  think  of  choosing  for  himself.  The  blow  on 
Lady  Agnes  is  very  cruel.  She  is  inconsolable.  She 
has  the  house  in  Grosvenor  Street  for  her  life,  and 
her  settlement,  which  was  very  handsome.  Have  you 
not  met  her  ?    Yes,  she  dined  one  day  at  Lady  Clav- 


PEXDEXXIS. 


317 


ering's  —  the  first  day  I  saw  you,  and  a  very  disagree- 
able young  man  1  thought  you  were.  But  I  have 
formed  you.  We  have  formed  him,  have  n't  we, 
Laura  ?  Where  is  Bluebeard  ?  let  him  come.  That 
horrid  Grindley,  the  dentist,  will  keep  me  in  town 
another  week." 

To  the  latter  part  of  her  ladyship's  speech  Arthur 
gave  no  ear.  He  was  thinking  for  whom  could  Foker 
be  purchasing  those  trinkets  which  he  was  carrying 
away  from  the  jeweller's  ?  Why  did  Harry  seem 
anxious  to  avoid  him  ?  Could  he  be  still  faithful  to 
the  attachment  which  had  agitated  him  so  much,  and 
sent  him  abroad  eighteen  months  back  ?  Psha !  The 
bracelets  and  presents  were  for  some  of  Harry's  old 
friends  of  the  Opera  or  the  French  Theatre.  Rumors 
from  Naples  and  Paris,  rumors  such  as  are  borne  to 
Club  smoking-rooms,  had  announced  that  the  young 
man  had  found  distractions ;  or,  precluded  from  his 
virtuous  attachment,  the  poor  fellow  had  flung  himself 
back  upon  his  old  companions  and  amusements  —  not 
the  only  man  or  woman  whom  society  forces  into  evil, 
or  debars  from  good :  not  the  only  victim  of  the  world's 
selfish  and  wicked  laws. 

As  a  good  thing  when  it  is  to  be  done  cannot  be  done 
too  quickly,  Laura  was  anxious  that  Pen's  marriage 
intentions  should  be  put  into  execution  as  speedily  as 
possible,  and  pressed  on  his  arrangements  with  rather 
a  feverish  anxiety.  Why  could  she  not  wait  ?  Pen 
could  afford  to  do  so  with  perfect  equanimity,  but 
Laura  would  hear  of  no  delay.  She  wrote  to  Pen : 
she  implored  Pen :  she  used  every  means  to  urge  ex- 
pedition. It  seemed  as  if  she  could  have  no  rest  until 
Arthur's  happiness  was  complete. 

She  offered  herself  to  dearest  Blanche  to  come  and 
stay  at  Tunbridge  with  her,  when  Lady  Rockminster 


318 


PENDENNIS. 


should  go  on  her  intended  visit  to  the  reigning  house  of 
Kockminster ;  and  although  the  old  dowager  scolded, 
and  ordered,  and  commanded,  Laura  was  deaf  and  dis- 
obedient ;  she  must  go  to  Tunbridge,  she  would  go  to 
Tunbridge  ;  she  who  ordinarily  had  no  will  of  her  own, 
and  complied  smilingly  with  anybody's  whim  and  ca- 
prices, showed  the  most  selfish  and  obstinate  deter- 
mination in  this  instance.  The  dowager  lady  must 
nurse  herself  in  her  rheumatism,  she  must  read  her- 
self to  sleep,  if  she  would  not  hear  her  maid,  whose 
voice  croaked,  and  who  made  sad  work  of  the  senti- 
mental passages  in  the  novels  —  Laura  must  go,  and 
be  with  her  new  sister.  In  another  week,  she  proposed, 
with  many  loves  and  regards  to  dear  Lady  Clavering, 
to  pass  some  time  with  dearest  Blanche. 

Dearest  Blanche  wrote  instantly  in  reply  to  dearest 
Laura's  No.  1,  to  say  with  what  extreme  delight  she 
would  welcome  her  sister :  how  charming  it  would  be 
to  practise  their  old  duets  together,  to  wander  o'er  the 
grassy  sward,  and  amidst  the  yellowing  woods  of  Pens- 
hurst  and  Southborough  !  Blanche  counted  the  hours 
till  she  should  embrace  her  dearest  friend. 

Laura,  No.  2,  expressed  her  delight  at  dearest 
Blanche's  affectionate  reply.  She  hoped  that  their 
friendship  would  never  diminish  ;  that  the  confidence 
between  them  would  grow  in  after  years ;  that  they 
should  have  no  secrets  from  each  other ;  that  the  aim 
of  the  life  of  each  would  be  to  make  one  person 
happy. 

Blanche,  No.  2,  followed  in  two  days.  "How  pro- 
voking !  Their  house  was  very  small,  the  two  spare 
bedrooms  were  occupied  by  that  horrid  Mrs.  Planter 
and  her  daughter,  who  had  thought  proper  to  fall  ill 
(she  always  fell  ill  in  country-houses),  and  she  could 
not  or  would  not  be  moved  for  some  days." 


PENDENNIS. 


319 


Laura,  No.  3.  "  It  was  indeed  very  provoking.  L. 
had  hoped  to  hear  one  of  dearest  B.'s  dear  songs  on 
Friday  :  but  she  was  the  more  consoled  to  wait,  be- 
cause Lady  E.  was  not  very  well,  and  liked  to  be 
nursed  by  her.  Poor  Major  Pendennis  was  very  un- 
well, too,  in  the  same  hotel  —  too  unwell  even  to  see 
Arthur,  who  was  constant  in  his  calls  on  his  uncle. 
Arthur's  heart  was  full  of  tenderness  and  affection. 
She  had  known  Arthur  all  her  life.  She  would  an- 
swer "  —  yes,  even  in  italics  she  would  answer  —  "  for 
his  kindness,  his  goodness,  and  his  gentleness." 

Blanche,  No.  3.  "  What  is  this  most  surprising, 
most  extraordinary  letter  from  A.  P.  ?  What  does 
dearest  Laura  know  about  it  ?  What  has  happened  ? 
What,  what  mystery  is  enveloped  under  his  fright- 
ful reserve  ?  " 

Blanche,  No.  3,  requires  an  explanation ;  and  it  can- 
not be  better  given  than  in  the  surprising  and  mys- 
terious letter  of  Arthur  Pendennis. 


CHAPTER  XXL 


MR.  AND  MRS.  SAM  HUXTER. 

"Dear  Blanche,"  Arthur  wrote,  "you  are  always  reading 
and  dreaming  pretty  dramas,  and  exciting  romances  in  real 
life,  are  you  now  prepared  to  enact  a  part  of  one  ?  And  not 
the  pleasantest  part,  dear  Blanche,  that  in  which  the  heroine 
takes  possession  of  her  father's  palace  and  wealth,  and  intro- 
ducing her  husband  to  the  loyal  retainers  and  faithful  vassals, 
greets  her  happy  bridegroom  with  1  All  of  this  is  mine  and 
thine,'  —  but  the  other  character,  that  of  the  luckless  lady, 
who  suddenly  discovers  that  she  is  not  the  Prince's  wife,  but 
Claude  Melnotte's  the  beggar's  :  that  of  Alnaschar's  wife,  who 
comes  in  just  as  her  husband  has  kicked  over  the  tray  of 
porcelain  which  was  to  be  the  making  of  his  fortune  —  But 
stay  ;  Alnaschar,  who  kicked  down  the  china,  was  not  a 
married  man;  he  had  cast  his  eye  on  the  Vizier's  daughter, 
and  his  hopes  of  her  went  to  the  ground  with  the  shattered 
bowls  and  tea-cups. 

"  Will  you  be  the  Vizier's  daughter,  and  refuse  and  laugh 
to  scorn  Alnaschar,  or  will  you  be  the  Lady  of  Lyons,  and 
love  the  penniless  Claude  Melnotte  ?  I  will  act  that  part  if 
you  like.  I  will  love  you  my  best  in  return.  I  will  do  my 
all  to  make  your  humble  life  happy  :  for  humble  it  will  be  : 
at  least  the  odds  are  against  any  other  conclusion  ;  we  shall 
live  and  die  in  a  poor  prosy  humdrum  way.  There  will  be 
no  stars  and  epaulets  for  the  hero  of  our  story.  I  shall 
write  one  or  two  more  stories,  which  will  presently  be  for- 
gotten. I  shall  be  called  to  the  Bar,  and  try  to  get  on  in  my 
profession  ;  perhaps  some  day,  if  I  am  very  lucky,  and  work 
very  hard  (which  is  absurd),  I  may  get  a  colonial  appoint- 
ment, and  you  may  be  an  Indian  Judge's  lady.  Meanwhile 
I  shall  buy  back  the  4  Pall  Mall  Gazette  ; '  the  publishers  are 


PENDENNIS. 


321 


tired  of  it  since  the  death  of  poor  Shandon,  and  will  sell  it 
for  a  small  sum.  Warrington  will  be  my  right  hand,  and 
write  it  up  to  a  respectable  sale.  I  will  introduce  you  to  Mr. 
Finucane  the  sub-editor,  and  I  know  who  in  the  end  will  be 
Mrs.  Finucane,  —  a  very  nice  gentle  creature,  who  has  lived 
sweetly  through  a  sad  life  —  and  we  will  jog  on,  I  say,  and 
look  out  for  better  times,  and  earn  our  living  decently.  You 
shall  have  the  opera-boxes,  and  superintend  the  fashionable 
intelligence,  and  break  your  little  heart  in  the  poet's  corner. 
Shall  we  live  over  the  offices  ?  — there  are  four  very  good 
rooms,  a  kitchen,  and  a  garret  for  Laura,  in  Catherine  Street 
in  the  Strand  ;  or  would  you  like  a  house  in  the  "Waterloo 
Road? — it  would  be  very  pleasant,  only  there  is  that  half- 
penny toll  at  the  Bridge.  The  boys  may  go  to  King's  College, 
may  n't  they  ?    Does  all  this  read  to  you  like  a  joke  1 

**  Ah,  dear  Blanche,  it  is  no  joke,  and  I  am  sober  and  tell- 
ing the  truth.  Our  tine  day-dreams  are  gone.  Our  carriage 
has  whirled  out  of  sight  like  Cinderella's  :  our  house  in  Bel- 
gravia  has  been  whisked  away  into  the  air  by  a  malevolent 
Genius,  and  I  am  no  more  a  Member  of  Parliament  than  I 
am  a  Bishop  on  his  bench  in  the  House  of  Lords,  or  a  Duke 
with  a  Garter  at  his  knee.  You  know  pretty  well  what  my 
property  is,  and  your  own  little  fortune  :  we  may  have 
enough  with  those  two  to  live  in  decent  comfort  :  to  take  a 
cab  sometimes  when  we  go  out  to  see  our  friends,  and  not  to 
deny  ourselves  an  omnibus  when  we  are  tired.  But  that  is 
all :  is  that  enough  for  you,  my  little  dainty  lady  ?  I  doubt 
sometimes  whether  you  can  bear  the  life  I  offer  you  —  at 
least,  it  is  fair  that  you  should  know  what  it  will  be.  If  you 
say,  1  Yes,  Arthur,  I  will  follow  your  fate  whatever  it  may 
be,  and  be  a  loyal  and  loving  wife  to  aid  and  cheer  you '  — 
come  to  me,  dear  Blanche,  and  may  God  help  me  so  that  I 
may  do  my  duty  to  you.  If  not,  and  you  look  to  a  higher 
station,  I  must  not  bar  Blanche's  fortune  —  I  will  stand  in  the 
crowd,  and  see  your  ladyship  go  to  Court  when  you  are  pre- 
sented, and  you  shall  give  me  a  smile  from  your  chariot  win- 
dow. I  saw  Lady  Mirabel  going  to  the  drawing-room  last 
season :  the  happy  husband  at  her  side  glittered  with  stars 


322 


PENDENNIS. 


and  cordons.  All  the  flowers  in  the  garden  bloomed  in  the 
coachman's  bosom.  Will  you  have  these  and  the  chariot,  or 
walk  on  foot  and  mend  your  husband's  stockings  ] 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  now  —  afterwards  I  might,  should  the 
day  come  when  we  may  have  no  secrets  from  one  another  — 
what  has  happened  within  the  last  few  hours  which  has 
changed  all  my  prospects  in  life  :  but  so  it  is,  that  I  have 
learned  something  which  forces  me  to  give  up  the  plans  which 
I  had  formed,  and  many  vain  and  ambitious  hopes  in  which 
I  had  been  indulging.  I  have  written  and  despatched  a  letter 
to  Sir  Francis  Clavering,  saying  that  I  cannot  accept  his  seat 
in  Parliament  until  after  my  marriage  ;  in  like  manner  I  can- 
not and  will  not  accept  any  larger  fortune  with  you  than  that 
which  has  always  belonged  to  you  since  your  grandfather's 
death,  and  the  birth  of  your  half-brother.  Your  good  mother 
is  not  in  the  least  aware  —  I  hope  she  never  may  be  —  of  the 
reasons  which  force  me  to  this  very  strange  decision.  They 
arise  from  a  painful  circumstance,  which  is  attributable  to 
none  of  our  faults  ;  but,  having  once  befallen,  they  are  as 
fatal  and  irreparable  as  that  shock  which  overset  honest  Al- 
naschar's  porcelain,  and  shattered  all  his  hopes  beyond  the 
power  of  mending.  I  write  gayly  enough ,  for  there  is  no  use 
in  bewailing  such  a  hopeless  mischance.  We  have  not  drawn 
the  great  prize  in  the  lottery,  dear  Blanche  :  but  I  shall  be 
contented  enough  without  it,  if  you  can  be  so  ;  and  I  repeat, 
with  all  my  heart,  that  I  will  do  my  best  to  make  you 
happy. 

"  And  now,  what  news  shall  I  give  you  ?  My  uncle  is  very 
unwell,  and  takes  my  refusal  of  the  seat  in  Parliament  in  sad 
dudgeon:  the  scheme  was  his,  poor  old  gentleman,  and  he 
naturally  bemoans  its  failure.  But  Warrington,  Laura,  and  I 
had  a  council  of  war  :  they  know  this  awful  secret,  and  back 
me  in  my  decision.  You  must  love  George  as  you  love  what 
is  generous  and  upright  and  noble  ;  and  as  for  Lanra  —  she 
must  be  our  Sister,  Blanche,  our  Saint,  our  good  Angel.  With 
two  such  friends  at  home,  what  need  we  care  for  the  world 
without,  or  who  is  member  for  Clavering,  or  who  is  asked  op 
not  asked  to  the  great  balls  of  the  season  i " 


PENDENNIS. 


323 


To  this  frank  communication  came  back  the  letter 
from  Blanche  to  Laura,  and  one  to  Pen  himself,  which 
perhaps  his  own  letter  justified. 

"You  are  spoiled  by  the  world,"  Blanche  wrote;  "you  do 
not  love  your  poor  Blanche  as  she  would  be  loved,  or  you 
would  not  offer  thus  lightly  to  take  her  or  to  leave  her.  No, 
*  Arthur,  you  love  me  not  —  a  man  of  the  world,  you  have 
given  me  your  plighted  troth,  and  are  ready  to  redeem  it ;  but 
that  entire  affection,  that  love  whole  and  abiding,  where  — 
where  is  that  vision  of  my  youth  ?  I  am  but  a  pastime  of  your 
life,  and  I  would  be  its  all  ;  —  but  a  fleeting  thought,  and  i 
would  be  your  whole  soul.  I  would  have  our  two  hearts  one  ; 
but  ah,  my  Arthur,  how  lonely  yours  is  1  how  little  you  give 
me  of  it !  You  speak  of  our  parting  with  a  smile  on  your  lip  ; 
of  our  meeting,  and  you  care  not  to  hasten  it !  Is  life  but  a 
disillusion,  then,  and  are  the  flowers  of  our  garden  faded  away  ? 
I  have  wept  —  I  have  prayed  —  I  have  passed  sleepless  hours  — 
I  have  shed  bitter,  bitter  tears  over  your  letter  !  To  you  I 
bring  the  gushing  poesy  of  my  being  —  the  yearnings  of  the 
soul  that  longs  to  be  loved  —  that  pines  for  love,  love,  love, 
beyond  all!  —  that  flings  itself  at  your  feet,  and  cries,  Love  me, 
Arthur  !  Your  heart  beats  no  quicker  at  the  kneeling  appeal 
of  my  love!  —  your  proud  eye  is  dimmed  by  no  tear  of  sympa- 
thy !  —  you  accept  my  soul's  treasure  as  though 't  were  dross  ! 
not  the  pearls  from  the  unfathomable  deeps  of  affection !  not 
the  diamonds  from  the  caverns  of  the  heart.  You  treat  me 
like  a  slave,  and  bid  me  bow  to  my  master !  Is  this  the  guer- 
don of  a  free  maiden  —  is  this  the  price  of  a  life's  passion  1  Ah 
me  !  when  was  it  otherwise  1  when  did  love  meet  with  aught 
but  disappointment  ?  Could  I  hope  (fond  fool !)  to  be  the  ex- 
ception to  the  lot  of  my  race  ;  and  lay  my  fevered  brow  on  a 
heart  that  comprehended  my  own  ?  Foolish  girl  that  I  was  t 
One  by  one,  all  the  flowers  of  my  young  life  have  faded  away; 
and  this,  the  last,  the  sweetest,  the  dearest,  the  fondlv,  the 
madly  loved,  the  wildly  cherished  —  where  is  it?  But  no 
more  of  this.  Heed  not  my  bleeding  heart.  —  Bless  you,  bless 
you  always,  Arthur ! 

M  I  will  write  more  when  I  am  more  collected.    My  racking 


324 


PENDENNIS. 


brain  renders  thought  almost  impossible.    I  long  to  see  Laura 
She  will  come  to  us  directly  we  return  from  the  country,  will 
she  not  ?    And  you,  cold  one  !  B." 

The  words  of  this  letter  were  perfectly  clear,  and 
written  in  Blanche's  neatest  hand  upon  her  scented 
paper;  and  yet  the  meaning  of  the  composition  not 
a  little  puzzled  Pen.  Did  Blanche  mean  to  accept  or 
to  refuse  his  polite  offer  ?  Her  phrases  either  meant 
that  Pen  did  not  love  her,  and  she  declined  him,  or 
that  she  took  him,  and  sacrificed  herself  to  him,  cold 
as  he  was.  He  laughed  sardonically  over  the  letter, 
and  over  the  transaction  which  occasioned  it.  He 
laughed  to  think  how  Fortune  had  jilted  him,  and 
how  he  deserved  his  slippery  fortune.  He  turned  over 
and  over  the  musky  gilt-edged  riddle.  It  amused 
his  humor :  he  enjoyed  it  as  if  it  had  been  a  funny 
story. 

He  was  thus  seated,  twiddling  the  queer  manuscript 
in  his  hand,  joking  grimly  to  himself,  when  his  ser- 
vant came  in  with  a  card  from  a  gentleman,  who 
wished  to  speak  to  him  very  particularly.  And  if 
Pen  had  gone  out  into  the  passage,  he  would  have 
seen  sucking  his  stick,  rolling  his  eyes,  and  showing 
great  marks  of  anxiety,  his  old  acquaintance,  Mr. 
Samuel  Huxter. 

"  Mr.  Huxter  on  particular  business  !  Pray  beg 
Mr.  Huxter  to  come  in,"  said  Pen,  amused  rather ; 
and  not  the  less  so  when  poor  Sam  appeared  before 
him. 

"Pray  take  a  chair,  Mr.  Huxter,"  said  Pen,  in  his 
most  superb  manner.  "In  what  way  can  I  be  of  ser- 
vice to  you  ?  " 

"  I  had  rather  not  speak  before  the  flunk  —  before 
the  man,  Mr.  Pendennis  : "  on  which  Mr.  Arthur's 
attendant  quitted  the  room. 


PENDENNIS. 


325 


"  I 'm  in  a  fix,"  said  Mr.  Huxter,  gloomily. 
"  Indeed." 

u  She  sent  me  to  you,"  continued  the  young 
surgeon. 

"  What !  Fanny  ?  Is  she  well  ?  I  was  coming  to 
see  her,  but  I  have  had  a  great  deal  of  business  since 
my  return  to  London." 

"  I  heard  of  you  through  my  governor  and  Jack 
Hobnell,"  broke  in  Huxter.  "  I  wish  you  joy,  Mr. 
Pendennis,  both  of  the  borough  and  the  lady,  sir. 
Fanny  wishes  you  joy,  too,"  he  added,  with  something 
of  a  blush. 

"  There 's  many  a  slip  between  the  cup  and  the  lip ! 
Who  knows  what  may  happen,  Mr.  Huxter,  or  who 
will  sit  in  Parliament  for  Clavering  next  session  ?  " 

"  You  can  do  anything  with  my  governor,"  contin- 
ued Mr.  Huxter.  "You  got  him  Clavering  Park. 
The  old  boy  was  very  much  pleased,  sir,  at  your 
calling  him  in.  Hobnell  wrote  me  so.  Do  you 
think  you  could  speak  to  the  governor  for  me, 
Mr.  Pendennis  ?  " 

"And  tell  him  what?" 

"  I  We  gone  and  done  it,  sir,"  said  Huxter,  with  a 
particular  look. 

"  You  —  you  don't  mean  to  say  you  have  —  you 
have  done  any  wrong  to  that  dear  little  creature, 
sir  ?  "  said  Pen,  starting  up  in  a  great  fury. 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Huxter,  with  a  hang-dog  look : 
"  but  I 've  married  her.  And  I  know  there  will  be  an 
awful  shindy  at  home.  It  was  agreed  that  I  should 
be  taken  into  partnership  when  I  had  passed  the  Col- 
lege, and  it  was  to  have  been  Huxter  &  Son.  But  I 
would  have  it,  confound  it.  It's  all  over  now,  and 
the  old  boy 's  wrote  me  that  he 's  coming  up  to  town 
for  drugs  :  he  will  be  here  to-morrow,  and  then  it: 
must  all  -come  out." 


326 


PENDENNIS. 


u  And  when  did  this  event  happen  ? 99  asked  Pen, 
not  over  well  pleased,  most  likely,  that  a  person  who 
had  once  attracted  some  portion  of  his  royal  good 
graces  should  have  transferred  her  allegiance,  and 
consoled  herself  for  his  loss. 

"  Last  Thursday  was  five  weeks  —  it  was  two  days 
after  Miss  Amory  came  to  Shepherd's  Inn,"  Huxter 
answered. 

Pen  remembered  that  Blanche  had  written  and 
mentioned  her  visit.  "  I  was  called  in,"  Huxter  said. 
"I  was  in  the  inn  looking  after  old  Cos's  leg;  and 
about  something  else  too,  very  likely:  and  I  met 
Strong,  who  told  me  there  was  a  woman  taken  ill  in 
chambers,  and  went  up  to  give  her  my  professional 
services.  It  was  the  old  lady  who  attends  Miss 
Amory  —  her  housekeeper,  or  some  such  thing.  She 
was  taken  with  strong  hysterics  :  I  found  her  kicking 
and  scratching  like  a  good  one  —  in  Strong's  cham- 
ber, along  with  him  and  Colonel  Altamont,  and  Miss 
Amory  crying  and  as  pale  as  a  sheet ;  and  Altamont 
fuming  about  —  a  regular  kick  up.  They  were  two 
hours  in  the  chambers ;  and  the  old  woman  went 
whooping  off  in  a  cab.  She  was  much  worse  than 
the  young  one.  I  called  in  Grosvenor  Place  next 
day  to  see  if  I  could  be  of  any  service,  but  they 
were  gone  without  so  much  as  thanking  me :  and  the 
day  after  I  had  business  of  my  own  to  attend  to  —  a 
bad  business  too,"  said  Mr.  Huxter,  gloomily.  "But 
it 's  done,  and  can't  be  undone ;  and  we  must  make 
the  best  of  it." 

She  has  known  the  story  for  a  month,  thought  Pen, 
with  a  sharp  pang  of  grief,  and  a  gloomy  sympathy  — 
this  accounts  for  her  letter  of  to-day.  She  will  not 
implicate  her  father,  or  divulge  his  secret ;  she  wishes 
to  let  me  off  from  the  marriage  —  and  finds  a  pretext 
—  the  generous  girl ! 


PENDENNIS. 


327 


u  Do  you  know  who  Altamont  is,  sir  ?  "  asked  Hux- 
ter, after  the  pause  during  which  Pen  had  been  think- 
ing of  his  own  affairs.  "  Fanny  and  I  have  talked 
him  over,  and  we  can't  help  fancying  that  it 's  Mrs. 
Lightfoot's  first  husband  come  to  life  again,  and 
she  who  has  just  married  a  second.  Perhaps  Light- 
foot  won't  be  very  sorry  for  it,"  sighed  Huxter,  look- 
ing savagely  at  Arthur,  for  the  demon  of  jealousy  was 
still  in  possession  of  his  soul ;  and  now,  and  more 
than  ever  since  his  marriage,  the  poor  fellow  fancied 
that  Fanny's  heart  belonged  to  his  rival. 

"  Let  us  talk  about  your  affairs,"  said  Pen.  "  Show 
me  how  I  can  be  of  any  service  to  you,  Huxter.  Let 
me  congratulate  you  on  your  marriage.  I  am  thank- 
ful that  Fanny,  who  is  so  good,  so  fascinating,  so  kind 
a  creature,  has  found  an  honest  man,  and  a  gentleman 
who  will  make  her  happy.  Show  me  what  I  can  do  to 
help  you." 

"  She  thinks  you  can,  sir,"  said  Huxter,  accepting 
Pen's  proffered  hand,  "  and  I 'm  very  much  obliged  to 
you,  I 'm  sure  ;  and  that  you  might  talk  over  my 
father,  and  break  the  business  to  him,  and  my  mother, 
who  always  has  her  back  up  about  being  a  clergy- 
man's daughter.  Fanny  ain't  of  a  good  family,  I 
know,  and  not  up  to  us  in  breeding  and  that  —  but 
she's  a  Huxter  now." 

"The  wife  takes  the  husband's  rank,  of  course," 
said  Pen. 

"  And  with  a  little  practice  in  society,"  continued 
Huxter,  imbibing  his  stick,  "  she  '11  be  as  good  as  any 
girl  in  Clavering.  You  should  hear  her  sing  and  play 
on  the  piano.  Did  you  ever  ?  Old  Bows  taught  her. 
And  she  '11  do  on  the  stage,  if  the  governor  was  to 
throw  me  over ;  but  I 'd  rather  not  have  her  there. 
She  can't  help  being  a  coquette,  Mr.  Pendennis,  she 


328 


PENDENNIS. 


can't  help  it.  Dammy,  sir !  I  '11  be  bound  to  say,  that 
two  or  three  of  the  Bartholomew  chaps,  that  I  've 
brought  into  my  place,  are  sitting  with  her  now  : 
even  Jack  Linton,  that  I  took  down  as  my  best  man, 
is  as  bad  as  the  rest,  and  she  will  go  on  singing  and 
making  eyes  at  him.  It  's  what  Bows  says,  if  there 
were  twenty  men  in  a  room,  and  one  not  taking  notice 
of  her,  she  would  n't  be  satisfied  until  the  twentieth 
was  at  her  elbow." 

"  You  should  have  her  mother  with  her,"  said  Pen, 
laughing. 

"  She  must  keep  the  lodge.  She  can't  see  so  much 
of  her  family  as  she  used.  I  can't,  you  know,  sir,  go 
on  with  that  lot.  Consider  my  rank  in  life,"  said 
Huxter,  putting  a  very  dirty  hand  up  to  his  chin. 

"  Aufait"  said  Mr.  Pen,  who  was  infinitely  amused, 
and  concerning  whom  mutato  nomine  (and  of  course 
concerning  nobody  else  in  the  world)  the  fable  might 
have  been  narrated. 

As  the  two  gentlemen  were  in  the  midst  of  this 
colloquy,  another  knock  came  to  Pen's  door,  and  his 
servant  presently  announced  Mr.  Bows.  The  old  man 
followed  slowly,  his  pale  face  blushing,  and  his  hand 
trembling  somewhat  as  he  took  Pen's.  He  coughed, 
and  wiped  his  face  in  his  checked  cotton  pocket- 
handkerchief,  and  sat  down  with  his  hands  on  his 
knees,  the  sun  shining  on  his  bald  head.  Pen  looked 
at  the  homely  figure  with  no  small  sympathy  and 
kindness.  This  man,  too,  has  had  his  griefs,  and  his 
wounds,  Arthur  thought.  This  man,  too,  has  brought 
his  genius  and  his  heart,  and  laid  them  at  a  woman's 
feet ;  where  she  spurned  them.  The  chance  of  life  has 
gone  against  him,  and  the  prize  is  with  that  creature 
yonder.  Fanny's  bridegroom,  thus  mutely  apostro- 
phized, had  winked  meanwhile  with  one  eye  at  old 


PENDENNIS. 


329 


Bows,  and  was  driving  holes  in  the  floor  with  the  cane 
which  he  loved. 

"  So  we  have  lost,  Mr.  Bows,  and  here  is  the  lucky 
winner,"  Pen  said,  looking  hard  at  the  old  man. 

"  Here  is  the  lucky  winner,  sir,  as  you  say." 

"  I  suppose  you  have  come  from  my  place  ?  "  asked 
Huxter,  who,  having  winked  at  Bows  with  one  eye, 
now  favored  Pen  with  a  wink  of  the  other  —  a  wink 
which  seemed  to  say,  "  Infatuated  old  boy  —  you  un- 
derstand—  over  head  and  ears  in  love  with  her  — 
poor  old  fool ! " 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  there  ever  since  you  went  away. 
It  was  Mrs.  Sam  who  sent  me  after  you :  who  said 
that  she  thought  you  might  be  doing  something  stupid 
—  something  like  yourself,  Huxter." 

"  There 's  as  big  fools  as  I  am,"  growled  the  young 
surgeon. 

"  A  few,  pYaps,"  said  the  old  man ;  "  not  many,  let  us 
trust.  Yes,  she  sent  me  after  you  for  fear  you  should 
offend  Mr.  Pendennis;  and  I  dare  say  because  she 
thought  you  would  n't  give  her  message  to  him,  and 
beg  him  to  go  and  see  her ;  and  she  knew  /  would 
take  her  errand.    Did  he  tell  you  that,  sir  ?  " 

Huxter  blushed  scarlet,  and  covered  his  confusion 
with  an  imprecation.  Pen  laughed !  the  scene  suited 
his  bitter  humor  more  and  more. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  Mr.  Huxter  was  going  to  tell  me," 
Arthur  said,  "and  very  much  flattered  I  am  sure  I 
shall  be  to  pay  my  respects  to  his  wife." 

"  It 's  in  Charterhouse  Lane,  over  the  baker's,  on 
the  right-hand  side  as  you  go  from  St.  John's  Street," 
continued  Bows,  without  any  pity.  "  You  know 
Smithfield,  Mr.  Pendennis  ?  St.  John's  Street  leads 
into  Smithfield.  Doctor  Johnson  has  been  down  the 
street  many  a  time  with  ragged  shoes,  and  a  bundle  of 


330 


PENDENNIS. 


penny-a-lining  for  the  *  Gent's  Magazine.'  You  lit- 
erary gents  are  better  off  now  —  eh  ?  You  ride  in 
your  cabs,  and  wear  yellow  kid  gloves  now." 

"  I  have  known  so  many  brave  and  good  men  fail, 
and  so  many  quacks  and  impostors  succeed,  that  you 
mistake  me  if  you  think  I  am  puffed  up  by  my  own 
personal  good  luck,  old  friend,"  Arthur  said,  sadly. 
"  Do  you  think  the  prizes  of  life  are  carried  by  the 
most  deserving  ?  and  set  up  that  mean  test  of 
prosperity  for  merit  ?  You  must  feel  that  you  are 
as  good  as  I.  I  have  never  questioned  it.  It  is  you 
that  are  peevish  against  the  freaks  of  fortune,  and 
grudge  the  good  luck  that  befalls  others.  It 's  not  the 
first  time  you  have  unjustly  accused  me,  Bows." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  not  far  wrong,  sir,"  said  the  old 
fellow,  wiping  his  bald  forehead.  "  I  am  thinking 
about  myself  and  grumbling ;  most  men  do  when  they 
get  on  that  subject.  Here 's  the  fellow  that's  got  the 
prize  in  the  lottery;  here's  the  fortunate  youth." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  are  driving  at,"  Huxter 
said,  who  had  been  much  puzzled  as  the  above 
remarks  passed  between  his  two  companions. 

"  Perhaps  not,"  said  Bows,  dryly.  "  Mrs.  H.  sent 
me  here  to  look  after  you,  and  to  see  that  you 
brought  that  little  message  to  Mr.  Pendennis,  which 
you  did  n't,  you  see,  and  so  she  was  right.  Women 
always  are ;  they  have  always  a  reason  for  everything. 
Why,  sir,"  he  said,  turning  round  to  Pen  with  a  sneer, 
"  she  had  a  reason  even  for  giving  me  that  message. 
I  was  sitting  with  her  after  you  left  us,  very  quiet  and 
comfortable ;  I  was  talking  away,  and  she  was  mend- 
ing your  shirts,  when  your  two  young  friends,  Jack 
Linton  and  Bob  Blades,  looked  in  from  Bartholo- 
mew's ;  and  then  it  was  she  found  out  that  she  had 
this  message  to  send.    You  needn't  hurry  yourself, 


PENDESTNIS 


331 


she  don't  want  you  back  again ;  they  '11  stay  these  two 
hours,  I  dare  say." 

Huxter  arose  with  great  perturbation  at  this  news, 
and  plunged  his  stick  into  the  pocket  of  his  paletot, 
and  seized  his  hat. 

"  You  '11  come  and  see  us,  sir,  won't  you  ?  99  he  said 
to  Pen.  "  You  '11  talk  over  the  governor,  won't 
you,  sir,  if  I  can  get  out  of  this  place  and  down  to 
Clavering  ?  " 

"You  will  promise  to  attend  me  gratis  if  ever  I  fall 
ill  at  Fairoaks,  will  you,  Huxter  ?  "  Pen  said  good- 
naturedly.  "  I  will  do  anything  I  can  for  you.  I  will 
come  and  see  Mrs.  Huxter  immediately,  and  we  will 
conspire  together  about  what  is  to  be  done." 

"  I  thought  that  would  send  him  out,  sir,"  Bows 
said,  dropping  into  his  chair  again  as  soon  as  the 
young  surgeon  had  quitted  the  room.  "  And  it 's  all 
true,  sir  —  every  word  of  it.  She  wants  you  back 
again,  and  sends  her  husband  after  you.  She  cajoles 
everybody,  the  little  devil.  She  tries  it  on  you,  on 
me,  on  poor  Costigan,  on  the  young  chaps  from  Bar- 
tholomew's. She 's  got  a  little  court  of  'em  already. 
And  if  there 's  nobody  there,  she  practises  on  the  old 
German  baker  in  the  shop,  or  coaxes  the  black  sweeper 
at  the  crossing." 

"  Is  she  fond  of  that  fellow  ?  "  asked  Pen. 

"There  is  no  accounting  for  likes  and  dislikes," 
Bows  answered.  "  Yes,  she  is  fond  of  him ;  and  hav- 
ing taken  the  thing  into  her  head,  she  would  not  rest 
until  she  married  him.  They  had  their  banns  pub- 
lished at  St.  Clement's,  and  nobody  heard  it  or  knew 
any  just  cause  or  impediment.  And  one  day  she  slips 
out  of  the  porter's  lodge  and  has  the  business  done, 
and  goes  off  to  Gravesend  with  Lothario ;  and  leaves 
a  note  for  me  to  go  and  explain  all  things  to  her  ma. 


332 


PENDENNIS. 


Bless  you !  the  old  woman  knew  it  as  well  as  I  did, 
though  she  pretended  ignorance.  And  so  she  goes, 
and  I 'm  alone  again.  I  miss  her,  sir,  tripping  along 
that  court,  and  coming  for  her  singing  lesson ;  and  I 've 
no  heart  to  look  into  the  porter's  lodge  now,  which 
looks  very  empty  without  her,  the  little  flirting  thing. 
And  I  go  and  sit  and  dangle  about  her  lodgings,  like 
an  old  fool.  She  makes  'em  very  trim  and  nice, 
though ;  gets  up  all  Huxter's  shirts  and  clothes  :  cooks 
his  little  dinner,  and  sings  at  her  business  like  a  little 
lark.  What's  the  use  of  being  angry?  I  lent  'em 
three  pound  to  go  on  with:  for  they  haven't  got  a 
shilling  till  the  reconciliation,  and  pa  comes  down." 

When  Bows  had  taken  his  leave,  Pen  carried  his 
letter  from  Blanche,  and  the  news  which  he  had  just 
received,  to  his  usual  adviser,  Laura.  It  was  wonder- 
ful upon  how  many  points  Mr.  Arthur,  who  generally 
followed  his  own  opinion,  now  wanted  another  person's 
counsel.  He  could  hardly  so  much  as  choose  a  waist- 
coat without  referring  to  Miss  Bell :  if  he  wanted  to 
buy  a  horse,  he  must  have  Miss  Bell's  opinion ;  all 
which  marks  of  deference  tended  greatly  to  the  amuse- 
ment of  the  shrewd  old  lady  with  whom  Miss  Bell 
lived,  and  whose  plans  regarding  her  protegee  we  have 
indicated. 

Arthur  produced  Blanche's  letter  then  to  Laura,  and 
asked  her  to  interpret  it.  Laura  was  very  much 
agitated,  and  puzzled  by  the  contents  of  the  note. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  she  said,  "  as  if  Blanche  is  acting 
very  artfully." 

"  And  wishes  so  to  place  matters  that  she  may  take 
me  or  leave  me  ?    Is  it  not  so  ?  " 

"  It  is,  I  am  afraid,  a  kind  of  duplicity  which  does 
not  augur  well  for  your  future  happiness :  and  is  a  bad 
*eply  to  your  own  candor  and  honesty,  Arthur.  Do 


PENDEXNIS. 


333 


you  know  I  think,  I  think  —  I  scarcely  like  to  say 
what  I  think,"  said  Laura,  with  a  deep  blush ;  but  of 
course  the  blushing  young  lady  yielded  to  her  cousin's 
persuasions,  and  expressed  what  her  thoughts  were. 
"  It  looks  to  me,  Arthur,  as  if  there  might  be  —  there 
might  be  somebody  else,"  said  Laura,  with  a  repetition 
of  the  blush. 

"  And  if  there  is,"  broke  in  Arthur,  "  and  if  I  am 
free  once  again,  will  the  best  and  dearest  of  all 
women  —  " 

"  You  are  not  free,  dear  brother,"  Laura  said  calmly. 
"  You  belong  to  another ;  of  whom  I  own  it  grieves 
me  to  think  ill.  But  I  can't  do  otherwise.  It  is  very 
odd  that  in  this  letter  she  does  not  urge  you  to  tell 
her  the  reason  why  you  have  broken  arrangements 
which  would  have  been  so  advantageous  to  you,  and 
avoids  speaking  on  the  subject.  She  somehow  seems 
to  write  as  if  she  knows  her  father's  secret." 

Pen  said,  "  Yes,  she  must  know  it ; "  and  told  the 
story,  which  he  had  just  heard  from  Huxter,  of  the 
interview  at  Shepherd's  Inn. 

"  It  was  not  so  that  she  described  the  meeting,"  said 
Laura ;  and  going  to  her  desk,  produced  from  it  that 
letter  of  Blanche's  which  mentioned  her  visit  to  Shep- 
herd's Inn.  "Another  disappointment  —  only  the 
Chevalier  Strong  and  a  friend  of  his  in  the  room." 
This  was  all  that  Blanche  had  said.  "But  she  was 
bound  to  keep  her  father's  secret,  Pen,"  Laura  added. 
"  And  yet,  and  yet  —  it  is  very  puzzling." 

The  puzzle  was  this,  that  for  three  weeks  after  this 
eventful  discovery  Blanche  had  been  only  too  eager 
about  her  dearest  Arthur ;  was  urging,  as  strongly  as 
so  much  modesty  could  urge,  the  completion  of  the 
happy  arrangements  which  were  to  make  her  Arthur's 
forever  j  and  now  it  seemed  as  if  something  had  in- 


334 


PENDENNIS. 


terfered  to  mar  these  happy  arrangements — as  if 
Arthur  poor  was  not  quite  so  agreeable  to  Blanche 
as  Arthur  rich  and  a  member  of  Parliament  —  as 
if  there  was  some  mystery.    At  last  she  said:  — 

"  Tunbridge  Wells  is  not  very  far  off,  is  it,  Arthur  ? 
Had  n't  you  better  go  and  see  her  ?  " 

They  had  been  in  town  a  week,  and  neither  had 
thought  of  that  simple  plan  before! 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


SHOWS  HOW  ARTHUR  HAD  BETTER  HAVE  TAKEN 
A  RETURN-TICKET. 

The  train  carried  Arthur  only  too  quickly  to  Tun. 
bridge,  though  he  had  time  to  review  all  the  circum- 
stances of  his  life  as  he  made  the  brief  journey ;  and 
to  acknowledge  to  what  sad  conclusions  his  selfish- 
ness and  waywardness  had  led  him.  "Here  is  the 
end  of  hopes  and  aspirations,"  thought  he,  "of  ro- 
mance and  ambitions  !  Where  I  yield  or  where  I  am 
obstinate,  I  am  alike  unfortunate;  my  mother  im- 
plores me,  and  I  refuse  an  angel !  Say  I  had  taken 
her;  forced  on  me  as  she  was,  Laura  would  never 
have  been  an  angel  to  me.  I  could  not  have  given 
her  my  heart  at  another's  instigation ;  I  could  never 
have  known  her  as  she  is,  had  I  been  obliged  to  ask 
another  to  interpret  her  qualities  and  point  out  her 
virtues.  I  yield  to  my  uncle's  solicitations,  and  ac- 
cept on  his  guarantee  Blanche,  and  a  seat  in  Parlia- 
ment, and  wealth,  and  ambition  and  a  career;  and 
see !  —  fortune  comes  and  leaves  me  the  wife  without 
the  dowry,  which  I  had  taken  in  compensation  of  a 
heart.  Why  was  I  not  more  honest,  or  am  I  not  less 
so  ?  It  would  have  cost  my  poor  old  uncle  no  pangs 
to  accept  Blanche's  fortune  whencesoever  it  came ;  he 
can't  even  understand,  he  is  bitterly  indignant,  heart- 
stricken  almost,  at  the  scruples  which  actuate  me  in 
refusing  it.  I  dissatisfy  everybody.  A  maimed,  weak, 
imperfect  wretch,  it  seems  as  if  I  am  unequal  to  any 


336 


PENDENNIS. 


fortune.  I  neither  make  myself  nor  any  one  con- 
nected with  me  happy.  What  prospect  is  there  for 
this  poor  little  frivolous  girl,  who  is  to  take  my  ob- 
scure name  and  share  my  fortune  ?  I  have  not  even 
ambition  to  excite  me,  or  self-esteem  enough  to  con- 
sole myself,  much  more  her,  for  my  failure.  If  I 
were  to  write  a  book  that  should  go  through  twenty 
editions,  why,  I  should  be  the  very  first  to  sneer  at 
my  reputation.  Say  I  could  succeed  at  the  Bar,  and 
achieve  a  fortune  by  bullying  witnesses  and  twisting 
evidence ;  is  that  a  fame  which  would  satisfy  my 
longings,  or  a  calling  in  which  my  life  would  be  well 
spent  ?  How  I  wish  I  could  be  that  priest  opposite, 
who  never  has  lifted  his  eyes  from  his  breviary, 
except  when  we  were  in  Reigate  tunnel,  when  he 
could  not  see ;  or  that  old  gentleman  next  him,  who 
scowls  at  him  with  eyes  of  hatred  over  his  news- 
paper. The  priest  shuts  his  eyes  to  the  world,  but 
has  his  thoughts  on  the  book,  which  is  his  directory  to 
the  world  to  come.  His  neighbor  hates  him  as  a 
monster,  tyrant,  persecutor,  and  fancies  burning  mar- 
tyrs, and  that  pale  countenance  looking  on,  and  lighted 
up  by  the  flame.  These  have  no  doubts ;  these  march 
on  trustfully,  bearing  their  load  of  logic." 

"  Would  you  like  to  look  at  the  paper,  sir  ?  "  here 
interposed  the  stout  gentleman  (it  had  a  flaming  arti- 
cle against  the  order  of  the  black-coated  gentleman 
who  was  travelling  with  them  in  the  carriage),  and 
Pen  thanked  him  and  took  it,  and  pursued  his  reverie, 
without  reading  two  sentences  of  the  journal. 

"And  yet,  would  you  take  either  of  those  men's 
creeds,  with  its  consequences  ?  "  he  thought.  "  Ah 
me !  you  must  bear  your  own  burden,  fashion  your 
own  faith,  think  your  own  thoughts,  and  pray  your 
own  prayer.    To  what  mortal  ear  could  I  tell  all,  if 


PENDENNIS. 


337 


I  had  a  mind  ?  or  who  could  understand  all  ?  Who 
can  tell  another's  shortcomings,  lost  opportunities, 
weigh  the  passions  which  overpower,  the  defects 
which  incapacitate  reason  ?  —  what  extent  of  truth 
and  right  his  neighbor's  mind  is  organized  to  per- 
ceive and  to  do  ?  —  what  invisible  and  forgotten 
accident,  terror  of  youth,  chance  or  mischance  of 
fortune,  may  have  altered  the  current  of  life  ?  A 
grain  of  sand  may  alter  it,  as  the  flinging  of  a  pebble 
may  end  it.  Who  can  weigh  circumstances,  passions, 
temptations,  that  go  to  our  good  and  evil  account,  save 
One,  before  whose  awful  wisdom  we  kneel,  and  at 
whose  mercy  we  ask  absolution  ?  Here  it  ends," 
thought  Pen ;  "  this  day  or  to-morrow  will  wind  up  the 
account  of  my  youth ;  a  weary  retrospect,  alas  !  a  sad 
history,  with  many  a  page  I  would  fain  not  look  back 
on !  But  who  has  not  been  tired  or  fallen,  and  who 
has  escaped  without  scars  from  that  struggle  ?  "  And 
his  head  fell  on  his  breast,  and  the  young  man's  heart 
prostrated  itself  humbly  and  sadly  before  that  Throne 
where  sits  wisdom,  and  love,  and  pity  for  all,  and 
made  its  confession.  "What  matters  about  fame  or 
poverty?"  he  thought.  "If  I  marry  this  woman  I 
have  chosen,  may  I  have  strength  and  will  to  be  true 
to  her,  and  to  make  her  happy !  If  I  have  children, 
pray  God  teach  me  to  speak  and  to  do  the  truth  among 
them,  and  to  leave  them  an  honest  name.  There  are 
no  splendors  for  my  marriage.  Does  my  life  deserve 
any  ?  I  begin  a  new  phase  of  it ;  a  better  than  the 
last  may  it  be,  I  pray  Heaven ! 19 

The  train  stopped  at  Tunbridge  as  Pen  was  making 
these  reflections ;  and  he  handed  over  the  newspaper  to 
his  neighbor,  of  whom  he  took  leave,  while  the  foreign 
clergyman  in  the  opposite  corner  still  sat  with  his 
eyes  on  his  bonk.    Pen  jumped  out  of  the  carriage 


338 


PENDENNIS. 


then,  his  carpet- oag  in  hand,  and  briskly  determined 
to  face  his  fortune. 

A  fly  carried  him  rapidly  to  Lady  Clavering's  house 
from  the  station ;  and,  as  he  was  transported  thither, 
Arthur  composed  a  little  speech,  which  he  intended  to 
address  to  Blanche,  and  which  was  really  as  virtuous, 
honest,  and  well-minded  an  oration  as  any  man  of  his 
turn  of  mind,  and  under  his  circumstances,  could  have 
uttered.  The  purport  of  it  was  —  "  Blanche,  I  cannot 
understand  from  your  last  letter  what  your  meaning 
is,  or  whether  my  fair  and  frank  proposal  to  you  is 
acceptable  or  no.  I  think  you  know  the  reason  which 
induces  me  to  forego  the  worldly  advantages  which  a 
union  with  you  oifered,  and  which  I  could  not  accept 
without,  as  I  fancy,  being  dishonored.  If  you  doubt 
of  my  affection,  here  I  am  ready  to  prove  it.  Let 
Smirke  be  called  in,  and  let  us  be  married  out  of 
hand;  and  with  all  my  heart  I  purpose  to  keep  my 
vow,  and  to  cherish  you  through  life,  and  to  be  a  true 
and  a  loving  husband  to  you." 

From  the  fly  Arthur  sprang  out  then  to  the  hall- 
door,  where  he  was  met  by  a  domestic  whom  he  did 
not  know.  The  man  seemed  to  be  surprised  at  the  ap- 
proach of  the  gentleman  with  the  carpet-bag,  which  he 
made  no  attempt  to  take  from  Arthur's  hands.  "  Her 
ladyship 's  not  at  home,  sir,"  the  man  remarked. 

"I  am  Mr.  Pendennis,"  Arthur  said.  "Where  is 
Lightfoot  ?  " 

"Lightfoot  is  gone,"  answered  the  man.  "My 
Lady  is  out,  and  my  orders  was  —  " 

"  I  hear  Miss  Amory's  voice  in  the  drawing-room," 
said  Arthur.  "Take  the  bag  to  a  dressing-room,  if 
you  please ; 99  and,  passing  by  the  porter,  he  walked 
straight  towards  that  apartment,  from  which,  as  the 
door  opened,  a  warble  of  melodious  notes  issued. 


PENDENNIS. 


339 


Our  little  Siren  was  at  her  piano,  singing  with  all 
her  might  and  fascinations.  Master  Clavering  was 
asleep  on  the  sofa,  indifferent  to  the  music ;  but  near 
Blanche  sat  a  gentleman  who  was  perfectly  enraptured 
with  her  strain,  which  was  of  a  passionate  and  melan- 
choly nature. 

As  the  door  opened,  the  gentleman  started  up  with 
a  Hullo !  the  music  stopped,  with  a  little  shriek  from 
the  singer ;  Frank  Clavering  woke  up  from  the  sofa, 
and  Arthur  came  forward  and  said,  "What,  Foker! 
how  do  you  do,  Foker  ?  "  He  looked  at  the  piano, 
and  there,  by  Miss  Amory's  side,  was  just  such  an- 
other purple-leather  box  as  he  had  seen  in  Harry's 
hand  three  days  before,  when  the  heir  of  Logwood 
was  coming  out  of  a  jeweller's  shop  in  Waterloo  Place. 
It  was  opened,  and  curled  round  the  white  satin 
cushion  within  was,  oh,  such  a  magnificent  serpentine 
bracelet,  with  such  a  blazing  ruby  head  and  diamond 
tail ! 

"How  de-do,  Pendennis?"  said  Foker.  Blanche 
made  many  motions  of  the  shoulders,  and  gave  signs 
of  interest  and  agitation.  And  she  put  her  handker- 
chief over  the  bracelet,  and  then  she  advanced,  with  a 
hand  which  trembled  very  much,  to  greet  Pen. 

"How  is  dearest  Laura?"  she  said.  The  face  of 
Foker  looking  up  from  his  profound  mourning  —  that 
face,  so  piteous  and  puzzled,  was  one  which  the  reader's 
imagination  must  depict  for  himself ;  also  that  of 
Master  Frank  Clavering,  who,  looking  at  the  three  in- 
teresting individuals  with  an  expression  of  the  utmost 
knowingness,  had  only  time  to  ejaculate  the  words, 
"  Here 's  a  jolly  go ! "  and  to  disappear  sniggering. 

Pen,  too,  had  restrained  himself  up  to  that  minute ; 
but  looking  still  at  Foker,  whose  ears  and  cheeks  tin- 
gled with  blushes,  Arthur  burst  out  into  a  fit  of 


340 


PENDENNIS. 


laughter,  so  wild  and  loud,  that  it  frightened  Blanche 
much  more  than  any  the  most  serious  exhibition. 

"  And  this  was  the  secret,  was  it  ?  Don't  blush 
and  turn  away,  Foker,  my  boy.  Why,  man,  you  are 
a  pattern  of  fidelity.  Could  I  stand  between  Blanche 
and  such  constancy  —  could  I  stand  between  Miss 
Amory  and  fifteen  thousand  a-year?" 

"  It  is  not  that,  Mr.  Pendennis,"  Blanche  said,  with 
great  dignity.  "  It  is  not  money,  it  is  not  rank,  it  is 
not  gold  that  moves  me ;  but  it  is  constancy,  it  is 
fidelity,  it  is  a  whole  trustful  loving  heart  offered  to 
me,  that  I  treasure  —  yes,  that  I  treasure ! "  And 
she  made  for  her  handkerchief,  but,  reflecting  what 
was  underneath  it,  she  paused.  "  I  do  not  disown, 
I  do  not  disguise  —  my  life  is  above  disguise  —  to 
him  on  whom  it  is  bestowed,  my  heart  must  be  for- 
ever bare  —  that  I  once  thought  I  loved  you,  —  yes, 
thought  I  was  beloved  by  you!  —  I  own.  How  I 
clung  to  that  faith !  How  I  strove,  I  prayed,  I 
longed  to  believe  it !  But  your  conduct  always  — 
your  own  words  so  cold,  so  heartless,  so  unkind,  have 
undeceived  me.  You  trifled  with  the  heart  of  the 
poor  maiden!  You  flung  me  back  with  scorn  the 
troth  which  I  had  plighted !  I  have  explained  all  — 
all  to  Mr.  Foker." 

"That  you  have,"  said  Foker,  with  devotion,  and 
conviction  in  his  looks. 

"  What !  all  ?  "  said  Pen,  with  a  meaning  look  at 
Blanche.  "  It  is  I  am  in  fault,  is  it  ?  Well,  well, 
Blanche,  be  it  so.  I  won't  appeal  against  your  sen- 
tence, and  bear  it  in  silence.  I  came  down  here  look- 
ing to  very  different  things,  Heaven  knows,  and  with 
a  heart  most  truly  and  kindly  disposed  towards  you. 
I  hope  you  may  be  happy  with  another,  as,  on  my 
word,  it  was  my  wish  to  make  you  so ;  and  I  hope 


PENDENNIS. 


341 


my  honest  old  friend  here  will  have  a  wife  worthy 
of  his  loyalty,  his  constancy,  and  affection.  Indeed 
they  deserve  the  regard  of  any  woman  —  even  Miss 
Blanche  Amory.  Shake  hands,  Harry ;  don't  look 
askance  at  me.  Has  anybody  told  you  that  I  was 
a  false  and  heartless  character  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  're  a  —  "  Foker  was  beginning  in  his 
wrath,  when  Blanche  interposed. 

"  Henry,  not  a  word !  —  I  pray  you  let  there  be 
forgiveness  !  " 

"  You  're  an  angel,  by  J ove,  you  're  an  angel ! " 
said  Foker,  at  which  Blanche  looked  seraphically  up 
to  the  chandelier. 

"  In  spite  of  what  has  passed,  for  the  sake  of  what 
has  passed,  I  must  always  regard  Arthur  as  a 
brother,"  the  seraph  continued ;  "  we  have  known 
each  other  years,  we  have  trodden  the  same  fields, 
and  plucked  the  same  flowers  together.  Arthur ! 
Henry !  I  beseech  you  to  take  hands  and  to  be 
friends  !  Forgive  you  !  —  /  forgive  you,  Arthur,  with 
my  heart  I  do.  Should  I  not  do  so  for  making  me 
so  happy  ?  " 

"  There  is  only  one  person  of  us  three  whom  I  pity, 
Blanche,"  Arthur  said  gravely ;  "  and  I  say  to  you 
again,  that  I  hope  you  will  make  this  good  fellow, 
this  honest  and  loyal  creature,  happy." 

"  Happy  !  0  Heavens  !  "  said  Harry.  He  could 
not  speak.  His  happiness  gushed  out  at  his  eyes. 
"  She  don't  know  —  she  can't  know  how  fond  I  am 
of  her,  and  —  and  who  am  I  ?  a  poor  little  beggar, 
and  she  takes  me  up  and  says  she  '11  try  and  1  —  1  — 
love  me.  I  ain't  worthy  of  so  much  happiness.  Give 
us  your  hand,  old  boy,  since  she  forgives  you  after 
your  heartless  conduct,  and  says  she  loves  you.  I  '11 
make  you  welcome.    I  tell  you  I'll  love  everybody 


342 


PENDENNIS. 


who  loves  her.    By  if  she  tells  me  to  kiss  the 

ground  I  '11  kiss  it.  Tell  me  to  kiss  the  ground !  I  say, 
tell  me.    I  love  you  so.    You  see  I  love  you  so." 

Blanche  looked  up  seraphically  again.  Her  gentle 
bosom  heaved.  She  held  out  one  hand  as  if  to  bless 
Harry,  and  then  royally  permitted  him  to  kiss  it. 
She  took  up  the  pocket  handkerchief  and  hid  her 
own  eyes,  as  the  other  fair  hand  was  abandoned  to 
poor  Harry's  tearful  embrace. 

"  I  swear  that  is  a  villain  who  deceives  such  a  lov- 
ing  creature  as  that,"  said  Pen. 

Blanche  laid  down  the  handkerchief,  and  put  hand 
No.  2  softly  on  Foker's  head,  which  was  bent  down 
kissing  and  weeping  over  hand  No.  1.  "Foolish 
boy,"  she  said,  "it  shall  be  loved  as  it  deserves: 
who  could  help  loving  such  a  silly  creature  ?  " 

And  at  this  moment  Frank  Clavering  burst  in  upon 
the  sentimental  trio. 

"  I  say,  Pendennis,"  he  said. 

"Well,  Frank!" 

"  The  man  wants  to  be  paid,  and  go  back.  He 's 
had  some  beer." 

"  I  '11  go  back  with  him,"  cried  Pen.  "  Good-by, 
Blanche.  God  bless  you,  Foker,  old  friend.  You 
know  neither  of  you  want  me  here."  He  longed  to 
be  off  that  instant. 

"  Stay  —  I  must  say  one  word  to  you.  One  word 
in  private,  if  you  please,"  Blanche  said.  "You  can 
trust  us  together,  can't  you,  —  Henry  ?  "  The  tone 
in  which  the  word  Henry  was  spoken,  and  the  appeal, 
ravished  Foker  with  delight.  "  Trust  you !  "  said 
he.  "Oh,  who  wouldn't  trust  you!  Come  along, 
Franky,  my  boy." 

"  Let 's  have  a  cigar,"  said  Frank,  as  they  went 
into  the  hall. 


PENDENNIS. 


343 


u  She  don't  like  it,"  said  Foker,  gently. 
"Law  bless  you  —  she  don't  mind.    Pendennis  used 
to  smoke  regular,"  said  the  candid  youth. 

"It  was  but  a  short  word  I  had  to  say,"  said 
Blanche  to  Pen,  with  great  calm,  when  they  were 
alone.    "  You  never  loved  me,  Mr.  Pendennis." 

"  I  told  you  how  much,"  said  Arthur.  "  I  never 
deceived  you." 

"  I  suppose  you  will  go  back  and  marry  Laura," 
continued  Blanche. 

"  Was  that  what  you  had  to  say  ?  "  said  Pen. 

"  You  are  going  to  her  this  very  night,  I  am  sure  of 
it.  There  is  no  denying  it.  You  never  cared  for 
me." 

"Et  vous?" 

"  Et  moi,  c'est  different.    I  have  been  spoilt  early. 

I  cannot  live  out  of  the  world,  out  of  excitement.  I 
could  have  done  so,  but  it  is  too  late.  If  I  cannot 
have  emotions,  I  must  have  the  world.  You  would 
offer  me  neither  one  nor  the  other.  You  are  blase  in 
everything,  even  in  ambition.  You  had  a  career 
before  you,  and  you  would  not  take  it.  You  give  it 
up  !  —  for  what  ?  —  for  a  betise,  for  an  absurd  scruple. 
Why  would  you  not  have  that  seat,  and  be  such  a 
puritain  ?  Why  should  you  refuse  what  is  mine  by 
right  —  by  right,  entendez-vous  ?  " 

"  You  know  all  then  ?  "  said  Pen. 

"  Only  within  a  month.  But  I  have  suspected  ever 
since  Baymouth  —  n  Hmporte  since  when.  It  is  not 
too  late.  He  is  as  if  he  had  never  been  ;  and  there  is 
a  position  in  the  world  before  you  yet.  Why  not  sit 
in  Parliament,  exert  your  talent,  and  give  a  place  in 
the  world  to  yourself,  to  your  wife  ?    I  take  celui-la. 

II  est  bon.    II  est  riche.    II  est  —  vous  le  connaissez 


344 


PENDENNIS. 


autant  que  moi,  enfin.  Think  you  that  I  would  not 
prefer  un  hoinme  qui  fera  parler  de  moi  ?  If  the 
secret  appears,  I  am  rich  a  millions.  How  does  it 
affect  me  ?    It  is  not  my  fault.    It  will  never  appear." 

"  You  will  tell  Harry  everything,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Je  comprends.  Vous  refusez,"  said  Blanche  sav- 
agely. "  I  will  tell  Harry  at  my  own  time,  when  we 
are  married.  You  will  not  betray  me,  will  you  ? 
You,  having  a  defenceless  girl's  secret,  will  not  turn 
upon  her  and  use  it  ?  S  'il  me  plait  de  le  cacher,  mon 
secret ;  pourquoi  le  donnerai-je  ?  Je  1  'aime,  mon 
pauvre  pere,  voyez-vous  ?  I  would  rather  live  with 
that  man  than  with  you  fades  intriguers  of  the  world. 

I  must  have  emotions  —  il  m  'en  donne.    II  m  'ecrit. 

II  ecrit  tres-bien,  voyez-vous  —  comme  un  pirate  — 
comme  un  Bohemien —  comme  un  homme.  But  for 
this  I  would  have  said  to  my  mother  —  Ma  mere  ! 
quittons  ce  lache  mari,  cette  lache  societe  —  retour- 
nons  a  mon  pere." 

"  The  pirate  would  have  wearied  you  like  the  rest," 
said  Pen. 

"  Eh !  II  me  faut  des  emotions,"  said  Blanche.  Pen 
had  never  seen  her  or  known  so  much  about  her  in  all 
the  years  of  their  intimacy  as  he  saw  and  knew  now  : 
though  he  saw  more  than  existed  in  reality.  For  this 
young  lady  was  not  able  to  carry  out  any  emotion 
to  the  full;  but  had  a  sham  enthusiasm,  a  sham 
hatred,  a  sham  love,  a  sham  taste,  a  sham  grief,  each 
of  which  flared  and  shone  very  vehemently  for  an 
instant,  but  subsided  and  gave  place  to  the  next  sham 
emotion. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


A  CHAPTER  OF  MATCH-MAKING. 

Upon  the  platform  at  Tunbridge,  Pen  fumed  and 
fretted  until  the  arrival  of  the  evening  train  to  Lon- 
don, a  full  half-hour,  —  six  hours  it  seemed  to  him  ; 
but  even  this  immense  interval  was  passed,  the  train 
arrived,  the  train  sped  on,  the  London  lights  came  in 
view  —  a  gentleman  who  forgot  his  carpet-bag  in  the 
train  rushed  at  a  cab,  and  said  to  the  man,  "  Drive  as 
hard  as  you  can  go  to  Jermyn  Street."  The  cab-man, 
although  a  Hansom  cab-man,  said  "  Thank  you "  for 
the  gratuity  which  was  put  into  his  hand,  and  Pen 
ran  up  the  stairs  of  the  hotel  to  Lady  Rockminster's 
apartments.  Laura  was  alone  in  the  drawing-room, 
reading,  with  a  pale  face,  by  the  lamp.  The  pale  face 
looked  up  when  Pen  opened  the  door.  May  we  fol- 
low him  ?  The  great  moments  of  life  are  but  mo- 
ments like  the  others.  Your  doom  is  spoken  in  a 
word  or  two.  A  single  look  from  the  eyes ;  a  mere 
pressure  of  the  hand,  may  decide  it;  or  of  the  lips, 
though  they  cannot  speak. 

When  Lady  Rockminster,  who  has  had  her  after- 
dinner  nap,  gets  up  and  goes  into  her  sitting-room,  we 
may  enter  with  her  ladyship. 

"  Upon  my  word,  young  people ! "  are  the  first 
words  she  says,  and  her  attendant  makes  wondering 
eyes  over  her  shoulder.  And  well  may  she  say  so ; 
aud  well  may  the  attendant  cast  wondering  eyes  ;  for 


346 


PENDENNIS. 


the  young  people  are  in  an  attitude ;  and  Pen  in  such 
a  position  as  every  young  lady  who  reads  this  has 
heard  tell  of,  or  has  seen,  or  hopes,  or  at  any  rate 
deserves  to  see. 

In  a  word,  directly  he  entered  the  room,  Pen  went 
up  to  Laura  of  the  pale  face,  who  had  not  time  even 
to  say,  "  What,  back  so  soon  ?  99  and  seizing  her  out- 
stretched and  trembling  hand  just  as  she  was  rising 
from  her  chair,  fell  down  on  his  knees  before  her, 
and  said  quickly,  "  I  have  seen  her.  She  has  engaged 
herself  to  Harry  Foker  —  and  —  and  now,  Laura  ?  " 

The  hand  gives  a  pressure — the  eyes  beam  a  re- 
ply—  the  quivering  lips  answer,  though  speechless. 
Pen's  head  sinks  down  in  the  girl's  lap,  as  he  sobs 
out,  "  Come  and  bless  us,  dear  mother ! "  and  arms  as 
tender  as  Helen's  once  more  enfold  him. 

In  this  juncture  it  is  that  Lady  Eockminster  comes 
in  and  says,  "  Upon  my  word,  young  people  !  Beck ! 
leave  the  room.  What  do  you  want  poking  your  nose 
in  here  ? 99 

Pen  starts  up  with  looks  of  triumph,  still  holding 
Laura's  hand.  "  She  is  consoling  me  for  my  mis- 
fortune, Ma'am,"  he  says. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  kissing  her  hand  ?  I  don't 
know  what  you  will  be  next  doing." 

Pen  kissed  her  ladyship's.  "  /  have  been  to  Tun- 
bridge,"  he  says,  "  and  seen  Miss  Amory  ;  and  find  on 
my  arrival  that  —  that  a  villain  has  transplanted  me 
in  her  affections,"  he  says  with  a  tragedy  air. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  Is  that  what  you  were  whimpering 
on  your  knees  about  ?  "  says  the  old  lady,  growing 
angry.  "  You  might  have  kept  the  news  till  to- 
morrow." 

"  Yes  —  another  has  superseded  me,"  goes  on  Pen ; 


PENDENNIS. 


347 


"  but  why  call  hiin  villain  ?  He  is  brave,  lie  is  con- 
stant, he  is  young,  he  is  wealthy,  he  is  beautiful." 

"  What  stuff  are  you  talking,  sir  ?  "  cried  the  old 
lady.    "What  has  happened?" 

"Miss  Amory  has  jilted  me,  and  accepted  Henry 
Foker,  Esq.  I  found  her  warbling  ditties  to  him  as 
he  lay  at  her  feet ;  presents  had  been  accepted,  vows 
exchanged,  these  ten  days.  Harry  was  old  Mrs. 
Planter's  rheumatism,  which  kept  dearest  Laura  out 
of  the  house.  He  is  the  most  constant  and  generous 
of  men.  He  has  promised  the  living  of  Logwood 
to  Lady  Ann's  husband,  and  given  her  a  splendid 
present  on  her  marriage ;  and  he  rushed  to  fling 
himself  at  Blanche's  feet  the  instant  he  found  he 
was  free." 

"  And  so,  as  you  can't  get  Blanche,  you  put  up  with 
Laura  :  is  that  it,  sir  ?  "  asked  the  old  lady. 

"  He  acted  nobly,"  Laura  said. 

"  I  acted  as  she  bade  me,"  said  Pen.  "Never  mind 
how,  Lady  Rockminster ;  but  to  the  best  of  my  know- 
ledge and  power.  And  if  you  mean  that  I  am  not 
worthy  of  Laura,  I  know  it,  and  pray  Heaven  to 
better  me ;  and  if  the  love  and  company  of  the  best 
and  purest  creature  in  the  world  can  do  so,  at  least 
I  shall  have  these  to  help  me." 

"Hm,  hm,"  replied  the  old  lady  to  this,  looking 
with  rather  an  appeased  air  at  the  young  people. 
"  It  is  all  very  well ;  but  I  should  have  preferred 
Bluebeard." 

And  now  Pen,  to  divert  the  conversation  from  a 
theme  which  was  growing  painful  to  some  parties 
present,  bethought  him  of  his  interview  with  Huxter 
in  the  morning,  and  of  Fanny  Bolton's  affairs,  which 
he  had  forgotten  under  the  immediate  pressure  and 
excitement  of  his  own.    And  he  told  the  ladies  how 


348 


PENDENNIS. 


Huxter  had  elevated  Fanny  to  the  rank  of  wife,  and 
what  terrors  he  was  in  respecting  the  arrival  of  his 
father.  He  described  the  scene  with  considerable 
humor,  taking  care  to  dwell  especially  upon  that  part 
of  it  which  concerned  Fanny's  coquetry  andirrepres^ 
sible  desire  of  captivating  mankind:  his  meaning 
"Being,  "  You  see,  Laura,  I  was  not  so  guilty  in  that 
little  affair  ;  it  was  the  girl  who  made  love  to  me,  and 
I  who  resisted.  As  I  am  no  longer  present,  the  little 
Siren  practises  her  arts  and  fascinations  upon  others. 
Let  that  transaction  be  forgotten  in  your  mind,  if  you 
please ;  or  visit  me  with  a  very  gentle  punishment  for 
my  error." 

Laura  understood  his  meaning  under  the  eagerness 
of  his  explanations.  "  If  you  did  any  wrong,  you 
repented,  dear  Pen,"  she  said,  "  and  you  know,"  she 
added,  with  meaning  eyes  and  blushes,  "  that  /  have 
no  right  to  reproach  you." 

"  Hm  !  "  grumbled  the  old  lady ;  "  I  should  have 
preferred  Bluebeard." 

"  The  past  is  broken  away.  The  morrow  is  before 
us.  I  will  do  my  best  to  make  your  morrow  happy, 
dear  Laura,"  Pen  said.  His  heart  was  humbled  by 
the  prospect  of  his  happiness  :  it  stood  awestricken 
in  the  contemplation  of  her  sweet  goodness  and 
purity.  He  liked  his  wife  better  that  she  had  owned 
to  that  passing  feeling  for  Warrington,  and  laid  bare 
her  generous  heart  to  him.  And  she  —  very  likely 
she  was  thinking,  "  How  strange  it  is  that  I  ever 
should  have  cared  for  another ;  I  am  vexed  almost 
to  think  I  care  for  him  so  little,  am  so  little  sorry 
that  he  is  gone  away.  Oh,  in  these  past  two  months 
how  I  have  learned  to  love  Arthur !  I  care  about 
nothing  but  Arthur ;  my  waking  and  sleeping  thoughts 
are  about  him ;  he  is  never  absent  from  me.    And  to 


PENDENNIS. 


349 


think  that  he  is  to  be  mine,  mine  !  and  that  I  am  to 
marry  him,  and  not  to  be  his  servant  as  I  expected 
to  be  only  this  morning ;  for  I  would  have  gone  down 
on  my  knees  to  Blanche  to  beg  her  to  let  me  live  with 
him.  And  now  —  Oh,  it  is  too  much.  Oh,  Mother  ! 
Mother,  that  you  were  here  ! "  Indeed,  she  felt  as  if 
Helen  were  there  —  by  her  actually,  though  invisibly. 
A  halo  of  happiness  beamed  from  her.  She  moved 
with  a  different  step,  and  bloomed  with  a  new  beauty. 
Arthur  saw  the  change ;  and  the  old  Lady  Eockmin- 
ster  remarked  it  with  her  shrewd  eyes. 

"  What  a  sly  demure  little  wretch  you  have  been," 
she  whispered  to  Laura  —  while  Pen,  in  great  spirits, 
was  laughing,  and  telling  his  story  about  Huxter  — 
"  and  how  you  have  kept  your  secret !  " 

"How  are  we  to  help  the  young  couple?"  said 
Laura.  Of  course  Miss  Laura  felt  an  interest  in  all 
young  couples,  as  generous  lovers  always  love  other 
lovers. 

"  We  must  go  and  see  them,"  said  Pen. 

"  Of  course  we  must  go  and  see  them,"  said  Laura. 
"I  intend  to  be  very  fond  of  Fanny.  Let  us  go 
this  instant.  Lady  Eockminster,  may  I  have  the 
carriage  ?  " 

"  Go  now !  —  why,  you  stupid  creature,  it  is  eleven 
o'clock  at  night.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Huxter  have  got  their 
nightcaps  on,  I  dare  say.  And  it  is  time  for  you  to  go 
now.    Good-night,  Mr.  Pendennis." 

Arthur  and  Laura  begged  for  ten  minutes  more. 

"  We  will  go  to-morrow  morning,  then.  I  will  come 
and  fetch  you  with  Martha." 

"  An  earl's  coronet,"  said  Pen,  who,  no  doubt,  was 
pleased  himself,  "will  have  a  great  effect  in  Lamb 
Court  and  Smithfield.  Stay  —  Lady  Eockminster,  will 
you  join  us  in  a  little  conspiracy  ?  " 


350 


PENDENNIS. 


"  How  do  you  mean  conspiracy,  young  man  ?  99 

"  Will  you  please  to  be  a  little  ill  to-morrow ;  and 
when  old  Mr.  Huxter  arrives,  will  you  let  me  call 
him  in  ?  If  he  is  put  into  a  good  humor  at  the  notion 
of  attending  a  baronet  in  the  country,  what  influence 
won't  a  countess  have  on  him  ?  When  he  is  softened 
—  when  he  is  quite  ripe,  we  will  break  the  secret  upon 
him  ;  bring  in  the  young  people,  extort  the  paternal 
benediction,  and  finish  the  comedy." 

"A  parcel  of  stuff,"  said  the  old  lady.  "Take 
your  hat,  sir.  Come  away,  Miss.  There  —  my  head 
is  turned  another  way.  Good-night,  young  people." 
And  who  knows  but  the  old  lady  thought  of  her  own 
early  days  as  she  went  away  on  Laura's  arm,  nodding 
her  head  and  humming  to  herself  ? 

With  the  early  morning  came  Laura  and  Martha, 
according  to  appointment ;  and  the  desired  sensation 
was,  let  us  hope,  effected  in  Lamb  Court,  whence  the 
three  proceeded  to  wait  upon  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Samuel 
Huxter,  at  their  residence  in  Charterhouse  Lane. 

The  two  ladies  looked  at  each  other  with  great  in- 
terest, and  not  a  little  emotion  on  Fanny's  part.  She 
had  not  seen  her  "  guardian,"  as  she  was  pleased  to 
call  Pen  in  consequence  of  his  bequest,  since  the  event 
had  occurred  which  had  united  her  to  Mr.  Huxter. 

"Samuel  told  me  how  kind  you  had  been,"  she 
said.  "  You  were  always  very  kind,  Mr.  Pendennis. 
And  —  and  I  hope  your  friend  is  better,  who  was  took 
ill  in  Shepherd's  Inn,  Ma'am." 

"  My  name  is  Laura,"  said  the  other,  with  a  blush. 
"  I  am  —  that  is,  I  was  —  that  is,  I  am  Arthur's  sister : 
and  we  shall  always  love  you  for  being  so  good  to  him 
when  he  was  ill.  And  when  we  live  in  the  country,  I 
hope  we  shall  see  each  other.  And  I  shall  be  always 
happy  to  hear  of  your  happiness,  Fanny." 


PEXDENNIS. 


351 


"  We  are  going  to  do  what  you  and  Huxter  have 
done,  Fanny.  —  Where  is  Huxter  ?  What  nice  snug 
lodgings  you 've  got !    What  a  pretty  cat ! " 

While  Fanny  is  answering  these  questions  in  reply 
to  Pen,  Laura  says  to  herself  —  "  Well,  now  really  ! 
is  this  the  creature  about  whom  we  were  all  so  frigh- 
tened !  What  could  he  see  in  her  ?  She 's  a  homely 
little  thing,  but  such  manners  !  Well,  she  was  very 
kind  to  him,  — bless  her  for  that." 

Mr.  Samuel  has  gone  out  to  meet  his  Pa.  Mrs. 
Huxter  said  that  the  old  gentleman  was  to  arrive  that 
day  at  the  Somerset  Coffee-House  in  the  Strand ;  and 
Fanny  confessed  that  she  was  in  a  sad  tremor  about 
the  meeting.  "  If  his  parents  cast  him  off,  what  are 
we  to  do  ?  "  she  said.  "  I  shall  never  pardon  myself 
for  bringing  ruing  on  my  'usband's  'ead.  You  must 
intercede  for  us,  Mr.  Arthur.  If  mortal  man  can,  you 
can  bend  and  influence  Mr.  'Uxter  senior."  Fanny 
still  regarded  Pen  in  the  light  of  a  superior  being, 
that  was  evident.  No  doubt  Arthur  thought  of  the 
past,  as  he  marked  the  solemn  little  tragedy-airs  and 
looks,  the  little  ways,  the  little  trepidations,  vanities, 
of  the  little  bride.  As  soon  as  the  interview  was  over 
entered  Messrs.  Linton  and  Blades,  who  came,  of  course, 
to  visit  Huxter,  and  brought  with  them  a  fine  fragrance 
of  tobacco.  They  had  watched  the  carriage  at  the 
baker's  door,  and  remarked  the  coronet  with  awe. 
They  asked  of  Fanny  who  was  that  uncommonly 
heavy  swell  who  had  just  driven  off  ?  and  pronounced 
the  countess  to  be  the  right  sort.  And  when  they 
heard  that  it  was  Mr.  Pendennis  and  his  sister,  they 
remarked  that  Pen's  father  was  only  a  sawbones  ;  and 
that  he  gave  himself  confounded  airs  ;  they  had  been 
in  Huxter's  company  on  the  night  of  his  little  alter 
cation  with  Pen  in  the  Back  Kitchen. 


352 


PENDENNIS. 


Keturning  homewards  through  Fleet  Street,  and  as 
Laura  was  just  stating  to  Pen's  infinite  amusement 
that  Fanny  was  very  well,  but  that  really  there  was 
no  beauty  in  her,  —  there  might  be,  but  she  could  not 
see  it,  —  as  they  were  locked  near  Temple  Bar,  they 
saw  young  Huxter  returning  to  his  bride.  u  The 
governor  had  arrived ;  was  at  the  Somerset  Coffee- 
House  —  was  in  tolerable  good-humor  —  something 
about  the  railway:  but  he  had  been  afraid  to  speak 
about  —  about  that  business.  Would  Mr.  Pendennis 
try  it  on  ?  " 

Pen  said  he  would  go  and  call  at  that  moment  upon 
Mr.  Huxter,  and  see  what  might  be  done.  Huxter 
junior  would  lurk  outside  whilst  that  awful  interview 
took  place.  The  coronet  on  the  carriage  inspired  his 
soul  also  with  wonder ;  and  old  Mr.  Huxter  himself 
beheld  it  with  delight,  as  he  looked  from  the  coffee- 
house window  on  that  Strand  which  it  was  always  a 
treat  to  him  to  survey. 

"  And  I  can  afford  to  give  myself  a  lark,  sir,"  said 
Mr.  Huxter,  shaking  hands  with  Pen.  "  Of  course 
you  know  the  news  ?  We  have  got  our  bill,  sir.  We 
shall  have  our  branch  line  —  our  shares  are  up,  sir  — 
and  we  buy  your  three  fields  along  the  Brawl,  and  put 
a  pretty  penny  into  your  pocket,  Mr.  Pendennis." 

"Indeed! — that  was  good  news."  Pen  remem- 
bered that  there  was  a  letter  from  Mr.  Tatham,  at 
Chambers,  these  three  days  •,  but  he  had  not  opened  the 
communication,  being  interested  with  other  affairs. 

"  I  hope  you  don't  intend  to  grow  rich,  and  give  up 
practice,"  said  Pen.  "  We  can't  lose  you  at  Clavering, 
Mr.  Huxter ;  though  I  hear  very  good  accounts  of 
your  son.  My  friend,  Dr.  Goodenough,  speaks  most 
highly  of  his  talents.  It  is  hard  that  a  man  of  your 
eminence,  though,  should  be  kept  in  a  country  town." 


PENDENNIS. 


353 


"The  metropolis  would  have  been  my  sphere  of 
action,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Huxter,  surveying  the  Strand. 
"  But  a  man  takes  his  business  where  he  finds  it ;  and 
I  succeeded  to  that  of  my  father." 

"  It  was  my  father's  too,"  said  Pen.  "  I  sometimes 
wish  I  had  followed  it." 

"  You,  sir,  have  taken  a  more  lofty  career,"  said  the 
old  gentleman.  "  You  aspire  to  the  senate  :  and  to 
literary  honors.  You  wield  the  poet's  pen,  sir,  and 
move  in  the  circles  of  fashion.  We  keep  an  eye  upon 
you  at  Clavering.  We  read  your  name  in  the  lists  of 
the  select  parties  of  the  nobility.  Why,  it  was  only 
the  other  day  that  my  wife  was  remarking  how  odd  it 
was  that  at  a  party  at  the  Earl  of  Kidderminster's 
your  name  was  not  mentioned.  To  what  member  of 
the  aristocracy  may  I  ask  does  that  equipage  belong 
from  which  I  saw  you  descend  ?  The  Countess  Dow- 
ager of  Kockminster  ?    How  is  her  ladyship  ?  " 

"  Her  ladyship  is  not  very  well ;  and  when  I  heard 
that  you  were  coming  to  town,  I  strongly  urged  her 
to  see  you,  Mr.  Huxter,"  Pen  said.  Old  Huxter  felt, 
if  he  had  a  hundred  votes  for  Clavering,  he  would 
give  them  all  to  Pen. 

"  There  is  an  old  friend  of  yours  in  the  carriage  — 
a  Clavering  lady  too  —  will  you  come  out  and  speak 
to  her  ?  "  asked  Pen.  The  old  surgeon  was  delighted 
to  speak  to  a  coroneted  carriage  in  the  midst  of  the 
full  Strand  :  he  ran  out  bowing  and  smiling.  Huxter 
junior,  dodging  about  the  district,  beheld  the  meeting 
between  his  father  and  Laura,  saw  the  latter  put  out 
her  hand,  and  presently,  after  a  little  colloquy  with 
Pen,  beheld  his  father  actually  jump  into  the  carriage, 
and  drive  away  with  Miss  Bell. 

There  was  no  room  for  Arthur,  who  came  back, 


354 


PENDENNIS. 


laughing,  to  the  young  surgeon,  and  told  him  whither 
his  parent  was  bound.  During  the  whole  of  the  jour- 
ney, that  artful  Laura  coaxed,  and  wheedled,  and 
cajoled  him  so  adroitly,  that  the  old  gentleman  would 
have  granted  her  anything;  and  Lady  Rockminster 
achieved  the  victory  over  him  by  complimenting  him 
on  his  skill,  and  professing  her  anxiety  to  consult 
him.  What  were  her  ladyship's  symptoms  ?  Should 
he  meet  her  ladyship's  usual  medical  attendant  ? 
Mr.  Jones  was  called  out  of  town  ?  He  should  be  de- 
lighted to  devote  his  very  best  energies  and  experi- 
ence to  her  ladyship's  service. 

He  was  so  charmed  with  his  patient,  that  he  wrote 
home  about  her  to  his  wife  and  family ;  he  talked  of 
nothing  but  Lady  Rockminster  to  Samuel,  when  that 
youth  came  to  partake  of  beefsteak  and  oyster-sauce, 
and  accompany  his  parent  to  the  play.  There  was  a 
simple  grandeur,  a  polite  urbanity,  a  high-bred  grace 
about  her  ladyship,  which  he  had  never  witnessed  in 
any  woman.  Her  symptoms  did  not  seem  alarming : 
he  had  prescribed  —  Spir :  Ammon :  Aromat :  with  a 
little  Spir :  Menth :  Pip :  and  orange-flower,  which 
would  be  all  that  was  necessary. 

."  Miss  Bell  seemed  to  be  on  the  most  confidential 
and  affectionate  footing  with  her  ladyship.  She  was 
about  to  form  a  matrimonial  connection.  All  young 
people  ought  to  marry.  Such  were  her  ladyship's 
words ;  and  the  Countess  condescended  to  ask  respect- 
ing my  own  family,  and  I  mentioned  you  by  name  to 
her  ladyship,  Sam,  my  boy.  I  shall  look  in  to-morrow, 
when,  if  the  remedies  which  I  have  prescribed  for  her 
ladyship  have  had  the  effect  which  I  anticipate,  I  shall 
probably  follow  them  up  by  a  little  Spir :  Lavend : 
Comp :  —  and  so  set  my  noble  patient  up.    What  is 


PENDENNIS. 


355 


the  theatre  which  is  most  frequented  by  the  —  by 
the  higher  classes  in  town,  hey,  Sam  ?  and  to  what 
amusement  will  you  take  an  old  country  doctor  to- 
night, hey,  sir  ?  " 

On  the  next  day,  when  Mr.  Huxter  called  in  Jermyn 
Street  at  twelve  o'clock,  Lady  Rockminster  had  not 
yet  left  her  room,  but  Miss  Bell  and  Mr.  Pendennis 
were  in  waiting  to  receive  him.  Lady  Rockminster 
had  had  a  most  comfortable  night,  and  was  getting  on 
as  well  as  possible.  How  had  Mr.  Huxter  amused 
himself  ?  at  the  theatre  ?  with  his  son  ?  What  a 
capital  piece  it  was,  and  how  charmingly  Mrs.  O'Leary 
looked  and  sang  it!  and  what  a  good  fellow  young 
Huxter  was  !  liked  by  everybody,  an  honor  to  his 
profession.  He  has  not  his  father's  manners,  I  grant 
you,  or  that  old-world  tone  which  is  passing  away 
from  us,  but  a  more  excellent,  sterling  fellow  never 
lived.  "  He  ought  to  practise  in  the  country  what- 
ever you  do,  sir,"  said  Arthur  —  "  he  ought  to  marry 
—  other  people  are  going  to  do  so  —  and  settle." 

"  The  very  words  that  her  ladyship  used  yesterday, 
Mr.  Pendennis.  He  ought  to  marry.  Sam  should 
marry,  sir." 

"The  town  is  full  of  temptations,  sir,"  continued 
Pen.  The  old  gentleman  thought  of  that  houri,  Mrs. 
O'Leary. 

"  There  is  no  better  safeguard  for  a  young  man 
than  an  early  marriage  with  an  honest  affectionate 
creature." 

"  No  better,  sir,  no  better." 

"  And  love  is  better  than  money,  is  n't  it." 

"  Indeed  it  is,"  said  Miss  Bell. 

"I  agree  with  so  fair  an  authority,"  said  the  old 
gentleman,  with  a  bow. 


356 


PENDEKNIS. 


"  And  —  and  suppose,  sir,"  Pen  said,  "  that  I  had  a 
piece  of  news  to  communicate  to  you." 

"  God  bless  my  soul,  Mr.  Pendennis !  what  do  you 
mean  ?  "  asked  the  old  gentleman. 

"  Suppose  I  had  to  tell  you  that  a  young  man, 
carried  away  by  an  irresistible  passion  for  an  admira- 
ble and  most  virtuous  young  creature  —  whom  every- 
body falls  in  love  with  —  had  consulted  the  dictates 
of  reason  and  his  heart,  and  had  married.  Suppose 
I  were  to  tell  you  that  that  man  is  my  friend ;  that 
our  excellent,  our  truly  noble  friend  the  Countess 
Dowager  of  6-ockminster  is  truly  interested  about 
him  (and  you  may  fancy  what  a  young  man  can  do  in 
life  when  that  family  is  interested  for  him)  ;  suppose 
I  were  to  tell  you  that  you  know  him  —  that  he  is  here 
—  that  he  is  —  " 

"  Sam  married !  God  bless  my  soul,  sir,  you  don't 
mean  that ! " 

"  And  to  such  a  nice  creature,  dear  Mr.  Huxter." 

"Her  ladyship  is  charmed  with  her,"  said  Pen, 
telling  almost  the  first  fib  which  he  has  told  in  the 
course  of  this  story. 

"Married!  the  rascal,  is  he?"  thought  the  old 
gentleman. 

"They  will  do  it,  sir,"  said  Pen;  and  went  and 
opened  the  door. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Samuel  Huxter  issued  thence,  and 
both  came  and  knelt  down  before  the  old  gentleman. 
The  kneeling  little  Fanny  found  favor  in  his  sight. 
There  must  have  been  something  attractive  about  her, 
in  spite  of  Laura's  opinion. 

"  Will  never  do  so  any  more,  sir,"  said  Sam. 

"  Get  up,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Huxter.  And  they  got  up, 
and  Fanny  came  a  little  nearer  and  a  little  nearer 


PENDENNIS. 


357 


still,  and  looked  so  pretty  and  pitiful,  that  somehow 
Mr.  Huxter  found  himself  kissing  the  little  crying- 
laughing  thing,  and  feeling  as  if  he  liked  it. 

"  What 's  your  name,  my  dear  ?  "  he  said,  after  a 
minute  of  this  sport. 

"  Fanny,  Papa,"  said  Mrs.  Samuel. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


EXEUNT  OMNES. 

Our  characters  are  all  a  month  older  than  they  were 
when  the  last-described  adventures  and  conversations 
occurred,  and  a  great  number  of  the  personages  of  our 
story  have  chanced  to  re-assemble  at  the  little  coun- 
try town  where  we  were  first  introduced  to  them. 
Frederic  Lightfoot,  formerly  maitre-oV  hotel  in  the  ser- 
vice of  Sir  Francis  Clavering,  of  Clavering  Park,  Bart., 
has  begged  leave  to  inform  the  nobility  and  gentry  of 
— shire  that  he  has  taken  that  well-known  and  com- 
fortable hotel,  the  Clavering  Arms,  in  Clavering, 
where  he  hopes  for  the  continued  patronage  of  the 
gentlemen  and  families  of  the  county.  "  This  ancient 
and  well-established  house,"  Mr.  Lightfoot's  mani- 
festo states,  "  has  been  repaired  and  decorated  in  a 
style  of  the  greatest  comfort.  Gentlemen  hunting 
with  the  Dumplingbeare  hounds  will  find  excellent 
stabling  and  loose  boxes  for  horses  at  the  Clavering 
Arms.  A  commodious  billiard-room  has  been  attached 
to  the  hotel,  and  the  cellars  have  been  furnished  with 
the  choicest  wines  and  spirits,  selected,  without  regard 
to  expense,  by  F.  L.  Commercial  gentlemen  will  find 
the  Clavering  Arms  a  most  comfortable  place  of  re- 
sort :  and  the  scale  of  charges  has  been  regulated  for 
all,  so  as  to  meet  the  economical  spirit  of  the  present 
times." 

Indeed,  there  is  a  considerable  air  of  liveliness  about 
the  old  inn.   The  Clavering  arms  have  been  splendidly 


PENDENNIS. 


359 


repainted  over  the  gateway.  The  coffee-room  windows 
are  bright  and  fresh,  and  decorated  with  Christmas 
holly  ;  the  magistrates  have  met  in  petty  sessions  in 
the  card-room  of  the  old  Assembly.  The  farmers'  ord- 
inary is  held  as  of  old,  and  frequented  by  increased 
numbers,  who  are  pleased  with  Mrs.  Lightfoot's  cui- 
sine. Her  Indian  curries  and  mulligatawny  soup  are 
especially  popular:  Major  Stokes,  the  respected  tenant 
of  Fairoaks  Cottage,  Captain  Glanders,  H.P.,  and  other 
resident  gentry,  have  pronounced  in  their  favor,  and 
have  partaken  of  them  more  than  once,  both  in  pri- 
vate and  at  the  dinner  of  the  Clavering  Institute,  at- 
tendant on  the  incorporation  of  the  reading-room,  and 
when  the  chief  inhabitants  of  that  nourishing  little 
town  met  together  and  did  justice  to  the  hostess's  ex- 
cellent cheer.  The  chair  was  taken  by  Sir  Francis 
Clavering,  Bart.,  supported  by  the  esteemed  rector, 

Dr.  Portman :  the  vice-chair  being  ably  filled  by  

Barker,  Esq.  (supported  by  the  Kev.  J.  Simcoe  and 
the  Kev.  S.  Jowls),  the  enterprising  head  of  the  rib- 
bon factory  in  Clavering,  and  chief  director  of  the 
Clavering  and  Chatteris  Branch  of  the  Great  Western 
Kail  way,  which  will  be  opened  in  another  year,  and 
upon  the  works  of  which  the  engineers  and  workmen 
are  now  busily  engaged. 

"  An  interesting  event,  which  is  likely  to  take  place 
in  the  life  of  our  talented  townsman,  Arthur  Penden- 
nis,  Esq.,  has,  we  understand,  caused  him  to  relinquish 
the  intentions  which  he  had  of  offering  himself  as  a 
candidate  for  our  borough :  and  rumor  whispers  "  (says 
the  "  Chatteris  Champion,  Clavering  Agriculturist, 
and  Baymouth  Fisherman,"  — that  independent  county 
paper,  so  distinguished  for  its  unswerving  principles 
and  loyalty  to  the  British  oak,  and  so  eligible  a  medium 
for  advertisements)  —  "  rumor  states,"  says  the  C.  C, 


360 


PENDENNIS. 


C.  A.  and  B.  F.,  "  that  should  Sir  Francis  Clavering's 
failing  health  oblige  him  to  relinquish  his  seat  in  Par- 
liament, he  will  vacate  it  in  favor  of  a  young  gentle- 
man of  colossal  fortune  and  related  to  the  highest 
aristocracy  of  the  empire,  who  is  about  to  contract  a 
matrimonial  alliance  with  an  accomplished  and  lovely 
lady,  connected  by  the  nearest  ties  with  the  respected 
family  at  Clavering  Park.  Lady  Clavering  and  Miss 
Amory  have  arrived  at  the  Park  for  the  Christmas 
holidays ;  and  we  understand  that  a  large  number  of 
the  aristocracy  are  expected,  and  that  festivities  of  a 
peculiarly  interesting  nature  will  take  place  there  at 
the  commencement  of  the  new  year." 

The  ingenious  reader  will  be  enabled,  by  the  help  of 
the  above  announcement,  to  understand  what  has  taken 
place  during  the  little  break  which  has  occurred  in  our 
narrative.  Although  Lady  Rockminster  grumbled  a 
little  at  Laura's  preference  for  Pendennis  over  Blue- 
beard, those  who  are  aware  of  the  latter's  secret  will 
understand  that  the  young  girl  could  make  no  other 
choice,  and  the  kind  old  lady  who  had  constituted  her- 
self Miss  Bell's  guardian  was  not  ill  pleased  that  she 
was  to  fulfil  the  great  purpose  in  life  of  young  ladies 
and  marry.  She  informed  her  maid  of  the  interesting 
event  that  very  night,  and  of  course  Mrs.  Beck,  who 
was  perfectly  aware  of  every  single  circumstance,  and 
kept  by  Martha,  of  Fairoaks,  in  the  fullest  knowledge 
of  what  was  passing,  was  immensely  surprised  and 
delighted.  "Mr.  Pendennis's  income  is  so  much;  the 
railroad  will  give  him  so  much  more,  he  states ;  Miss 
Bell  has  so  much,  and  may  probably  have  a  little  more 
one  day.  For  persons  in  their  degree,  they  will  be 
able  to  manage  very  well.  And  I  shall  speak  to  my 
nephew  Pynsent,  who  I  suspect  was  once  rather  at- 
tached to  her,  —  but  of  course  that  was  out  of  the 


PENDENNIS. 


361 


question  ("  Oh !  of  course,  my  lady ;  I  should  think  so 
indeed  !  ")  —  not  that  you  know  anything  whatever 
about  it,  or  have  any  business  to  -think  at  all  on  the 
subject,  —  I  shall  speak  to  George  Pynsent,  who  is 
now  chief  secretary  of  the  Tape  and  Sealing  Wax 
Office,  and  have  Mr.  Pendennis  made  something. 
And,  Beck,  in  the  morning  you  will  carry  down  my 
compliments  to  Major  Pendennis,  and  say  that  I  shall 
pay  him  a  visit  at  one  o'clock.  Yes,"  muttered  the 
old  lady,  "  the  Major  must  be  reconciled,  and  he  must 
leave  his  fortune  to  Laura's  children." 

Accordingly,  at  one  o'clock,  the  Dowager  Lady 
Roekminster  appeared  at  Major  Pendennis's,  who 
was .  delighted,  as  may  be  imagined,  to  receive  so 
noble  a  visitor.  The  Major  had  been  prepared,  if 
not  for  the  news  which  her  ladyship  was  about  to 
give  him,  at  least  with  the  intelligence  that  Pen's 
marriage  with  Miss  Amory  was  broken  off.  The 
young  gentleman  bethinking  him  of  his  uncle,  for 
the  first  time  that  day  it  must  be  owned,  and  meet- 
ing his  new  servant  in  the  hall  of  the  hotel,  asked 
after  the  Major's  health  from  Mr.  Frosch ;  and  then 
went  into  the  coffee-room  of  the  hotel,  where  he  wrote 
a  half-dozen  lines  to  acquaint  his  guardian  with  what 
had  occurred. 

"  Dear  Uncle,"  he  said,  "  if  there  has  been  any  question 
between  us,  it  is  over  now.  I  went  to  Tunbridge  Wells  yes- 
terday, and  found  that  somebody  else  had  carried  off  the  prize 
about  which  we  were  hesitating.  Miss  A.,  without  any  com- 
punction for  me,  has  bestowed  herself  upon  Harry  Foker, 
with  his  fifteen  thousand  a-year.  I  came  in  suddenly  upon 
their  loves,  and  found  and  left  him  in  possession. 

"And  you'll  be  glad  to  hear,  Tatham  writes  me,  that  he 
has  sold  three  of  my  fields  at  Fairoaks  to  the  Railroad  Com- 
pany, at  a  great  figure.  I  will  tell  you  this,  and  more  when 
we  meet ;  and  am  always  your  affectionate  —  A.  P." 


362 


PENDENNIS. 


"  I  think  I  am  aware  of  what  you  were  about  to 
tell  me,"  the  Major  said,  with  a  most  courtly  smile 
and  bow  to  Pen's  ambassadress.  "  It  was  a  very  great 
kindness  of  your  ladyship  to  think  of  bringing  me 
the  news.  How  well  you  look  !  How  very  good  you 
are  !  How  very  kind  you  have  always  been  to  that 
young  man !  " 

"  It  was  for  the  sake  of  his  uncle,"  said  Lady  Rock- 
minster,  most  politely. 

"  He  has  informed  me  of  the  state  of  affairs,  and 
written  me  a  nice  note,  —  yes,  a  nice  note,"  con- 
tinued the  old  gentleman ;  "  and  I  find  he  has  had 
an  increase  to  his  fortune,  —  yes  ;  and,  all  things  con- 
sidered, I  don't  much  regret  that  this  affair  with  Miss 
Amory  is  manqitee,  though  I  wished  for  it  once,  —  in 
fact,  all  things  considered,  I  am  very  glad  of  it." 

"We  must  console  him,  Major  Pendennis,"  con- 
tinued the  lady ;  "  we  must  get  him  a  wife."  The 
truth  then  came  across  the  Major's  mind,  and  he 
saw  for  what  purpose  Lady  Rockminster  had  chosen 
to  assume  the  office  of  ambassadress. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  enter  into  the  conversation 
which  ensued,  or  to  tell  at  any  length  how  her  lady- 
ship concluded  a  negotiation,  which,  in  truth,  was 
tolerably  easy.  There  could  be  no  reason  why  Pen 
should  not  marry  according  to  his  own  and  his 
mother's  wish :  and  as  for  Lady  Rockminster,  she 
supported  the  marriage  by  intimations  which  had 
very  great  weight  with  the  Major,  but  of  which  we 
shall  say  nothing,  as  her  ladyship  (now,  of  course, 
much  advanced  in  years)  is  still  alive,  and  the  family 
might  be  angry ;  and,  in  fine,  the  old  gentleman  was 
quite  overcome  by  the  determined  graciousness  of  the 
lady,  and  her  fondness  for  Laura.  Nothing,  indeed, 
could  be  more  bland  and  kind  than  Lady  Rock- 


PENDENNIS. 


363 


minster's  whole  demeanor,  except  for  one  moment 
when  the  Major  talked  about  his  boy  throwing  him- 
self away,  at  which  her  ladyship  broke  out  into  a 
little  speech,  in  which  she  made  the  Major  under- 
stand, what  poor  Pen  and  his  friends  acknowledge 
very  humbly,  that  Laura  was  a  thousand  times  too 
good  for  him.  Laura  was  fit  to  be  the  wife  of  a  king, 
—  Laura  was  a  paragon  of  virtue  and  excellence. 
And  it  must  be  said,  that  when  Major  Pendennis 
found  that  a  lady  of  the  rank  of  the  Countess  of 
Rockminster  seriously  admired  Miss  Bell,  he  in- 
stantly began  to  admire  her  himself. 

So  that  when  Herr  Frosch  was  requested  to  walk 
up-stairs  to  Lady  Rockminster's  apartments,  and  in- 
form Miss  Bell  and  Mr.  Arthur  Pendennis  that  the 
Major  would  receive  them,  and  Laura  appeared  blush 
ing  and  happy  as  she  hung  on  Pen's  arm,  the  Major 
gave  a  shaky  hand  to  one  and  the  other,  with  no  un- 
affected emotion  and  cordiality,  and  then  went  through 
another  salutation  to  Laura,  which  caused  her  to  blush 
still  more.  Happy  blushes !  bright  eyes  beaming 
with  the  light  of  love  !  The  story-teller  turns  from 
this  group  to  his  young  audience,  and  hopes  that  one 
day  their  eyes  may  all  shine  so. 

Pen  having  retreated  in  the  most  friendly  manner, 
and  the  lovely  Blanche  having  bestowed  her  young 
affections  upon  a  blushing  bridegroom,  with  fifteen 
thousand  a-year,  there  was  such  an  outbreak  of  happi- 
ness in  Lady  Clavering's  heart  and  family  as  the  good 
Begum  had  not  known  for  many  a  year,  and  she  and 
Blanche  were  on  the  most  delightful  terms  of  cordial- 
ity and  affection.  The  ardent  Foker  pressed  onwards 
the  happy  day,  and  was  as  anxious  as  might  be  ex- 
pected to  abridge  the  period  of  mourning  which 


364 


PENDENNIS. 


should  put  him  in  possession  of  so  many  charms 
and  amiable  qualities,  of  which  he  had  been  only, 
as  it  were,  the  heir-apparent,  not  the  actual  owner, 
until  then.  The  gentle  Blanche,  everything  that  her 
affianced  lord  could  desire,  was  not  averse  to  gratify 
the  wishes  of  her  fond  Henry.  Lady  Clavering  came 
up  from  Tunbridge.  Milliners  and  jewellers  were  set 
to  work  and  engaged  to  prepare  the  delightful  para- 
phernalia of  Hymen.  Lady  Clavering  was  in  such  a 
good-humor,  that  Sir  Francis  even  benefited  by  it, 
and  such  a  reconciliation  was  effected  between  this 
pair,  that  Sir  Francis  came  to  London,  sat  at  the  head 
of  his  own  table  once  more,  and  appeared  tolerably 
flush  of  money  at  his  billiard-rooms  and  gambling- 
houses  again.  One  day,  when  Major  Pendennis  and 
Arthur  went  to  dine  in  Grosvenor  Place,  they  found 
an  old  acquaintance  established  in  the  quality  of  ma- 
jor-domo, and  the  gentleman  in  black,  who,  with  per- 
fect politeness  and  gravity,  offered  them  their  choice 
of  sweet  or  dry  champagne,  was  no  other  than  Mr. 
James  Morgan.  The  Chevalier  Strong  was  one  of 
the  party ;  he  was  in  high  spirits  and  condition,  and 
entertained  the  company  with  accounts  of  his  amuse- 
ments abroad. 

"  It  was  my  Lady  who  invited  me,"  said  Strong  to 
Arthur,  under  his  voice  —  "  that  fellow  Morgan  looked 
as  black  as  thunder  when  I  came  in.  He  is  about  no 
good  here.  I  will  go  away  first,  and  wait  for  you  and 
Major  Pendennis  at  Hyde  Park  Gate." 

Mr.  Morgan  helped  Major  Pendennis  to  his  great- 
coat when  he  was  quitting  the  house ;  and  muttered 
something  about  having  accepted  a  temporary  engage- 
ment with  the  Clavering  family. 

"  I  have  got  a  paper  of  yours,  Mr.  Morgan,"  said 
the  old  gentleman. 


PENDENNIS. 


365 


"  Which  you  can  show,  if  you  please,  to  Sir  Francis, 
sir,  and  perfectly  welcome,"  said  Mr.  Morgan,  with 
downcast  eyes.  "  I 'm  very  much  obliged  to  you, 
Major  Pendennis,  and  if  I  can  pay  you  for  all  your 
kindness  I  will." 

Arthur  overheard  the  sentence,  and  saw  the  look  of 
hatred  which  accompanied  it,  suddenly  cried  out  that 
he  had  forgotten  his  handkerchief,  and  ran  up-stairs  to 
the  drawing-room  again.  Foker  was  still  there  :  still 
lingering  about  his  siren.  Pen  gave  the  siren  a  look 
full  of  meaning,  and  we  suppose  that  the  siren  under- 
stood meaning  looks,  for  when,  after  finding  the  vera- 
cious handkerchief  of  which  he  came  in  quest,  he 
once  more  went  out,  the  siren,  with  a  laughing  voice, 
said,  "Oh,  Arthur  —  Mr.  Pendennis — I  want  you  to 
tell  dear  Laura  something  ! "  and  she  came  out  to  the 
door. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  asked,  shutting  the  door. 
"  Have  you  told  Harry  ?    Do  you  know  that  villain 
Morgan  knows  all  ? 99 
"  I  know  it,"  she  said. 
"  Have  you  told  Harry  ?  " 
"  No,  no,"  she  said.    "  You  won't  betray  me  ?  99 
"  Morgan  will,"  said  Pen. 

"No,  he  won't,"  said  Blanche.  "I  have  promised 
him  —  n'importe.  Wait  until  after  our  marriage  — 
Oh,  until  after  our  marriage  —  Oh,  how  wretched  I 
am  ! 99  said  the  girl,  who  had  been  all  smiles,  and 
grace,  and  gayety  during  the  evening. 

Arthur  said,  "  I  beg  and  implore  you  to  tell  Harry. 
Tell  him  nowc  It  is  no  fault  of  yours.  He  will  par- 
don you  anything.    Tell  him  to-night." 

"  And  give  her  this  — 11  est  la  —  with  my  love, 
please  ;  and  I  beg  your  pardon  for  calling  you  back ; 
and  if  she  will  be  at  Madame  Crinoline's  at  half-past 


SG6 


PENDENNIS. 


three,  and  if  Lady  Pockminster  can  spare  her,  I 
should  so  like  to  drive  with  her  in  the  Park ; "  and 
she  went  in,  singing  and  kissing  her  little  hand,  as 
Morgan  the  velvet-footed  came  up  the  carpeted  stair. 

Pen  heard  Blanche's  piano  breaking  out  into  brilliant 
music  as  he  went  down  to  join  his  uncle ;  and  they 
walked  away  together.  Arthur  briefly  told  him  what 
he  had  done.    "  What  was  to  be  done  ?  "  he  asked. 

"What  is  to  be  done,  begad  ?  "  said  the  old  gentle- 
man. "  What  is  to  be  done  but  to  leave  it  alone  ? 
Begad,  let  us  be  thankful,"  said  the  old  fellow,  with  a 
shudder,  "  that  we  are  out  of  the  business,  and  leave 
it  to  those  it  concerns." 

"  I  hope  to  Heaven  she  '11  tell  him,"  said  Pen. 

"  Begad,  she  '11  take  her  own  course,"  said  the  old 
man.  "  Miss  Amory  is  a  dev'lish  wideawake  girl,  sir, 
and  must  play  her  own  cards ;  and  I  am  doosid  glad 
you  are  out  of  it  —  doosid  glad,  begad.  Who 's  this 
smoking  ?  Oh,  it 's  Mr.  Strong  again.  He  wants  to 
put  in  his  oar,  I  suppose.  I  tell  you,  don't  meddle  in 
the  business,  Arthur." 

Strong  began  once  or  twice,  as  if  to  converse  upon 
the  subject,  but  the  Major  would  not  hear  a  word. 
He  remarked  on  the  moonlight  on  Apsley  House,  the 
weather,  the  cab-stands  —  anything  but  that  subject. 
He  bowed  stiffly  to  Strong,  and  clung  to  his  nephew's 
arm,  as  he  turned  down  St.  James's  Street,  and  again 
cautioned  Pen  to  leave  the  affair  alone.  "  It  had  like 
to  have  cost  you  so  much,  sir,  that  you  may  take  my 
advice,"  he  said. 

When  Arthur  came  out  of  the  hotel,  Strong's  cloak 
and  cigar  were  visible  a  few  doors  off.  The  jolly 
Chevalier  laughed  as  they  met.  "  I 'm  an  old  soldier, 
too,"  he  said.  "  I  wanted  to  talk  to  you,  Pendennis. 
I  have  heard  of  all  that  has  happened,  and  all  the 


PENDENNIS. 


367 


chops  and  changes  that  have  taken  place  during  my 
absence.  I  congratulate  you  on  your  marriage,  and  I 
congratulate  you  on  your  escape,  too, — you  under- 
stand me.  It  was  not  my  business  to  speak,  but  I 
know  this,  that  a  certain  party  is  as  arrant  a  little  — . 
well  — well,  never  mind  what.  You  acted  like  a  man 
and  a  trump,  and  are  well  out  of  it." 

"I  have  no  reason  to  complain,"  said  Pen.  "I 
went  back  to  beg  and  entreat  poor  Blanche  to  tell 
Foker  all :  I  hope,  for  her  sake,  she  will ;  but  I  fear 
not.  There  is  but  one  policy,  Strong,  there  is  but 
one." 

"  And  lucky  he  that  can  stick  to  it,"  said  the  Cheva- 
lier. "  That  rascal  Morgan  means  mischief.  He  has 
been  lurking  about  our  chambers  for  the  last  two 
months :  he  has  found  out  that  poor  mad  devil 
Amory's  secret.  He  has  been  trying  to  discover 
where  he  was :  he  has  been  pumping  Mr.  Bolton,  and 
making  old  Costigan  drunk  several  times.  He  bribed 
the  Inn  porter  to  tell  him  when  we  came  back ;  and 
he  has  got  into  Clavering's  service  on  the  strength  of 
his  information.  He  will  get  very  good  pay  for  it, 
mark  my  words,  the  villain." 

"  Where  is  Amory  ?  "  asked  Pen. 

"At  Boulogne,  I  believe.  I  left  him  there,  and 
warned  him  not  to  come  back.  I  have  broken  with 
him  after  a  desperate  quarrel,  such  as  one  might  have 
expected  with  such  a  madman.  And  I 'm  glad  to  think 
that  he  is  in  my  debt  now,  and  that  I  have  been  the 
means  of  keeping  him  out  of  more  harms  than  one." 

"  He  has  lost  all  his  winnings,  I  suppose  ?  "  said 
Pen. 

"  No  :  he  is  rather  better  than  when  he  went  away, 
or  was  a  fortnight  ago.  He  had  extraordinary  luck 
at  Baden  :  broke  the  bank  several  nights,  and  was  the 


368 


PENDENNIS. 


fable  of  the  place.  He  lied  himself  there  with  a  fel- 
low, by  the  name  of  Bloundell,  who  gathered  about 
him  a  society  of  all  sorts  of  sharpers,  male  and  female, 
Russians,  Germans,  French,  English.  Amory  got  so 
insolent,  that  I  was  obliged  to  thrash  him  one  day 
within  an  inch  of  his  life.  I  could  n't  help  myself ; 
the  fellow  has  plenty  of  pluck,  and  I  had  nothing  for 
it  but  to  hit  out." 

"  And  did  he  call  you  out  ?  "  said  Pen. 

"  You  think  if  I  had  shot  him  I  should  have  done 
nobody  any  harm  ?  No,  sir ;  I  waited  for  his  chal- 
lenge, but  it  never  came :  and  the  next  time  I  met 
him  he  begged  my  pardon,  and  said,  '  Strong,  I  beg 
your  pardon;  you  whopped  me  and  you  served  me 
right.'  I  shook  hands  :  but  I  could  n't  live  with  him 
after  that.  I  paid  him  what  I  owed  him  the  night 
before,"  said  Strong  with  a  blush.  "  I  pawned  every- 
thing to  pay  him,  and  then  I  went  with  my  last  ten 
florins,  and  had  a  shy  at  the  roulette.  If  I  had  lost,  I 
should  have  let  him  shoot  me  in  the  morning.  I  was 
weary  of  my  life.  By  Jove,  sir,  is  n't  it  a  shame  that 
a  man  like  me,  who  may  have  had  a  few  bills  out,  but 
who  never  deserted  a  friend,  or  did  any  unfair  action, 
should  n't  be  able  to  turn  his  hand  to  anything  to  get 
bread  ?  I  made  a  good  night,  sir,  at  roulette,  and  I 've 
done  with  that.  I'm  going  into  the  wine  business. 
My  wife's  relations  live  at  Cadiz.  I  intend  to  bring 
over  Spanish  wine  and  hams ;  there 's  a  fortune  to  be 
made  by  it,  sir,  —  a  fortune  —  here's  my  card.  If 
you  want  any  sherry  or  hams,  recollect  Ned  Strong  is 
your  man."  And  the  Chevalier  pulled  out  a  hand- 
some card,  stating  that  Strong  and  Company,  Shep- 
herd's Inn,  were  sole  agents  of  the  celebrated  Diamond 
Manzanilla  of  the  Duke  of  Garbanzos,  Grandee  of 
Spain  of  the  First  Class ;  and  of  the  famous  Toboso 


PENDENNIS. 


369 


hams,  fed  on  acorns  only  in  the  country  of  Don  Qui- 
xote.  u  Come  and  taste  'em,  sir,  —  come  and  try  'em 
at  my  chambers.  You  see,  I 've  an  eye  to  business, 
and  by  Jove  this  time  I  '11  succeed." 

Pen  laughed  as  he  took  the  card.  "  I  don't  know 
whether  I  shall  be  allowed  to  go  to  bachelors'  parties," 
he  said.    "  You  know  I 'm  going  to  —  " 

"But  you  must  have  sherry,  sir.  You  must  have 
sherry." 

"  I  will  have  it  from  you,  depend  on  it,"  said  the 
other.  "  And  I  think  you  are  very  well  out  of  your 
other  partnership.  That  worthy  Altamont  and  his 
daughter  correspond,  I  hear,"  Pen  added  after  a 
pause. 

"  Yes  ;  she  wrote  him  the  longest  rigmarole  letters, 
that  I  used  to  read :  the  sly  little  devil ;  and  he  an- 
swered  under  cover  to  Mrs.  Bonner.  He  was  for 
carrying  her  off  the  first  day  or  two,  and  nothing 
would  content  him  but  having  back  his  child.  But 
she  did  n't  want  to  come,  as  you  may  fancy  ;  and  he 
was  not  very  eager  about  it."  Here  the  Chevalier 
burst  out  in  a  laugh.  "  Why,  sir,  do  you  know  what 
was  the  cause  of  our  quarrel  and  boxing-match  ? 
There  was  a  certain  widow  at  Baden,  a  Madame  la 
Baronne  de  la  Cruche-cassee,  who  was  not  much  better 
than  himself,  and  whom  the  scoundrel  wanted  to 
marry ;  and  would,  but  that  I  told  her  he  was  married 
already.  I  don't  think  that  she  was  much  better  than 
he  was.  I  saw  her  on  the  pier  at  Boulogne  the  day  I 
came  to  England." 

And  now  we  have  brought  up  our  narrative  to  the 
point,  whither  the  announcement  in  the  "  Chatteris 
Champion  "  had  already  conducted  us. 

It  wanted  but  very,  very  few  days  before  that  bliss- 
ful one  when  Foker  should  call  Blanche  his  own ;  the 


370 


PENDENNIS. 


Clavering  folks  had  all  pressed  to  see  the  most 
splendid  new  carriage  in  the  whole  world,  which  was 
standing  in  the  coach-house  at  the  Clavering  Arms ; 
and  shown,  in  grateful  return  for  drink,  commonly,  by 
Mr.  Foker's  head  coachman.  Madame  Fribsby  was 
occupied  in  making  some  lovely  dresses  for  the  tenants' 
daughters,  who  were  to  figure  as  a  sort  of  bridesmaids' 
chorus  at  the  breakfast  and  marriage-ceremony.  And 
immense  festivities  were  to  take  place  at  the  Park 
upon  this  delightful  occasion. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Huxter,  yes  ;  a  happy  tenantry,  its  coun- 
try's pride,  will  assemble  in  the  baronial  hall,  where 
the  beards  will  wag  all.  The  ox  shall  be  slain,  and 
the  cup  they  '11  drain ;  and  the  bells  shall  peal  quite 
genteel ;  and  my  father-in-law,  with  the  tear  of  sensi- 
bility bedewing  his  eye  shall  bless  us  at  his  baronial 
porch.  That  shall  be  the  order  of  proceedings  I  think, 
Mr.  Huxter ;  and  I  hope  we  shall  see  you  and  your 
lovely  bride  by  her  husband's  side,  and  what  will  you 
please  to  drink,  sir  ?  Mrs.  Lightfoot,  Madam,  you 
will  give  to  my  excellent  friend  and  body  surgeon, 
Mr.  Huxter,  Mr.  Samuel  Huxter,  M.  R.  C.  S.,  every  re- 
freshment that  your  hostel  affords,  and  place  the  fes- 
tive amount  to  my  account ;  and,  Mr.  Lightfoot,  sir, 
what  will  you  take  ?  though  you 've  had  enough  al- 
ready, I  think  ;  yes,  ha." 

So  spoke  Harry  Foker,  in  the  bar  of  the  Clavering 
Arms.  He  had  apartments  at  that  hotel,  and  had 
gathered  a  circle  of  friends  round  him  there.  He 
treated  all  to  drink  who  came.  He  was  hail-fellow 
with  every  man.  He  was  so  happy !  He  danced 
round  Madame  Fribsby,  Mrs.  Lightfoot's  great  ally, 
as  she  sat  pensive  in  the  bar.  He  consoled  Mrs. 
Lightfoot,  who  had  already  begun  to  have  causes  of 
matrimonial  disquiet  j  for  the  truth  must  be  told,  that 


PENDENNIS. 


371 


young  Lightfoot,  having  now  the  full  command  of  the 
cellar,  had  none  over  his  own  unbridled  desires,  and 
was  tippling  and  tipsy  from  morning  till  night.  And 
a  piteous  sight  it  was  for  his  fond  wife  to  behold  the 
big  3'outh  reeling  about  the  yard  and  coffee-room,  or 
drinking  with  the  farmers  and  tradesmen  his  own 
neat  wines  and  carefully  selected  stock  of  spirits. 

When  he  could  find  time,  Mr.  Morgan  the  butler 
came  from  the  Park,  and  took  a  glass  at  the  expense 
of  the  landlord  of  the  Clavering  Arms.  He  watched 
poor  Lightfoot's  tipsy  vagaries  with  savage  sneers. 
Mrs.  Lightfoot  felt  always  doubly  uncomfortable 
when  her  unhappy  spouse  was  under  his  comrade's 
eye.  But  a  few  months  married,  and  to  think  he  had 
got  to  this  !  Madame  Fribsby  could  feel  for  her, 
Madame  Fribsby  could  tell  her  stories  of  men  every 
bit  as  bad.  She  had  had  her  own  woes  too,  and  her  sad 
experience  of  men.  So  it  is,  that  nobody  seems  happy 
altogether ;  and  that  there 's  bitters,  as  Mr.  Foker  re- 
marked, in  the  cup  of  every  man's  life.  And  yet  there 
did  not  seem  to  be  any  in  his,  the  honest  young  fellow  ! 
It  was  brimming  over  with  happiness  and  good-humor. 

Mr.  Morgan  was  constant  in  his  attentions  to  Foker. 
"  And  yet  I  don't  like  him  somehow,"  said  the  candid 
young  man  to  Mrs.  Lightfoot.  *  He  always  seems  as  if 
he  was  measuring  me  for  my  coffin  somehow.  Pa-in- 
law 's  afraid  of  him  ;  pa-in-law 's,  ahem  !  never  mind, 
but  ma-in-law 's  a  trump,  Mrs.  Lightfoot." 

u  Indeed  my  lady  was  ;  "  and  Mrs.  Lightfoot  owned, 
with  a  sigh,  that  perhaps  it  had  been  better  for  her  had 
she  never  left  her  mistress. 

"  No,  I  do  not  like  thee,  Dr.  Fell ;  the  reason  why  I 
cannot  tell,"  continued  Mr.  Foker ;  "  and  he  wants  to 
be  taken  as  my  head  man.  Blanche  wants  me  to  take 
him.    Why  does  Miss  Amory  like  him  so  ?  99 


372 


PENDENNIS. 


"  Did  Miss  Blanche  like  him  so  ?  "  The  notion 
seemed  to  disturb  Mrs.  Lightfoot  very  much;  and 
there  came  to  this  worthy  landlady  another  cause  for 
disturbance.  A  letter,  bearing  the  Boulogne  post- 
mark, was  brought  to  her  one  morning,  and  she  and 
her  husband  were  quarrelling  over  it  as  Foker  passed 
down  the  stairs  by  the  bar,  on  his  way  to  the  Park. 
His  custom  was  to  breakfast  there,  and  bask  a  while 
in  the  presence  of  Armida ;  then,  as  the  company  of 
Clavering  tired  him  exceedingly,  and  he  did  not  care 
for  sporting,  he  would  return  for  an  hour  or  two 
to  billiards  and  the  society  of  the  Clavering  Arms; 
then  it  would  be  time  to  ride  with  Miss  Amory,  and, 
after  dining  with  her,  he  left  her  and  returned 
modestly  to  his  inn. 

Lightfoot  and  his  wife  were  quarrelling  over  the 
letter.  What  was  that  letter  from  abroad  ?  Why 
was  she  always  having  letters  from  abroad  ?  Who 
wrote  'em?  —  he  would  know.  He  didn't  believe  it 
was  her  brother.  It  was  no  business  of  his  ?  It  was  a 
business  of  his ;  and,  with  a  curse,  he  seized  hold  of  his 
wife,  and  dashed  at  her  pocket  for  the  letter. 

The  poor  woman  gave  a  scream ;  and  said,  "  Well, 
take  it."  Just  as  her  husband  seized  on  the  letter, 
and  Mr.  Foker  entered  at  the  door,  she  gave  another 
scream  at  seeing  him,  and  once  more  tried  to  seize  the 
paper.  Lightfoot  opened  it,  shaking  her  away,  and 
an  enclosure  dropped  down  on  the  breakfast-table. 

"  Hands  off,  man  alive ! "  cried  little  Harry,  spring- 
ing in.  "Don't  lay  hands  on  a  woman,  sir.  The  man 
that  lays  his  hands  upon  a  woman,  save  in  the  way  of 
kindness,  is  a  —  hallo !  it 's  a  letter  for  Miss  Amory. 
What's  this,  Mrs.  Lightfoot?" 

Mrs.  Lightfoot  began,  in  piteous  tones  of  reproach 
to  her  husband,  —  "  You  unmanly  fellow  !  to  treat  a 


PENDENNIS. 


373 


woman  so  who  took  you  off  the  street.  Oh,  you  cow- 
ard, to  lay  your  hand  upon  your  wife !  Why  did  I 
marry  you  ?  Why  did  I  leave  my  lady  for  you  ? 
Why  did  I  spend  eight  hundred  pound  in  fitting  up 
this  house  that  you  might  drink  and  guzzle  ?  " 

"  She  gets  letters,  and  she  won't  tell  me  who  writes 
letters/'  said  Mr.  Lightfoot,  with  a  muzzy  voice ;  "  it 's 
a  family  affair,  sir.    Will  you  take  anything,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  will  take  this  letter  to  Miss  Amory,  as  I  am  go- 
ing to  the  Park,"  said  Foker,  turning  very  pale ;  and 
taking  it  up  from  the  table,  which  was  arranged  for 
the  poor  landlady's  breakfast,  he  went  away. 

"  He 's  comin'  —  dammy,  who 's  a  comin'  ?  Who 's 
J.  A.,  Mrs.  Lightfoot  —  curse  me,  who 's  J.  A.  ?  "  cried 
the  husband. 

Mrs.  Lightfoot  cried  out,  "Be  quiet,  you  tipsy 
brute,  do  !  "  —  and  running  to  her  bonnet  and  shawl, 
threw  them  on,  saw  Mr.  Foker  walking  down  the 
street,  took  the  by-lane  which  skirts  it,  and  ran  as 
quickly  as  she  could  to  the  lodge-gate,  Clavering 
Park.  Foker  saw  a  running  figure  before  him,  but 
it  was  lost  when  he  got  to  the  lodge-gate.  He  stopped 
and  asked,  "  Who  was  that  who  had  just  come  in  ? 
Mrs.  Bonner  was  it  ?  "  He  reeled  almost  in  his  walk ; 
the  trees  swam  before  him.  He  rested  once  or  twice 
against  the  trunks  of  the  naked  limes. 

Lady  Clavering  was  in  the  breakfast-room  with  her 
son,  and  her  husband  yawning  over  his  paper.  "  Good- 
morning,  Harry,"  said  the  Begum.  "  Here 's  letters, 
lots  of  letters ;  Lady  Bockminster  will  be  here  on 
Tuesday  instead  of  Monday,  and  Arthur  and  the  Ma- 
jor come  to-day ;  and  Laura  is  to  go  to  Dr.  Portman's 
and  come  to  church  from  there :  and  —  what 's  the 
matter,  my  dear  ?    What  makes  you  so  pale,  Harry  ?  " 

"  Where  is  Blanche  ?  "  asked  Harry,  in  a  sickening 
voice  —  "not  down  yet  ?  " 


374 


PENDENNIS. 


"  Blanche  is  always  the  last,"  said  the  boy,  eating 
muffins ;  "  she 's  a  regular  dawdle,  she  is.  When 
you  're  not  here,  she  lays  in  bed  till  lunch  time." 

a  Be  quiet,  Frank,"  said  the  mother. 

Blanche  came  down  presently,  looking  pale,  and 
with  rather  an  eager  look  towards  Foker;  then  she 
advanced  and  kissed  her  mother,  and  had  a  face  beam- 
ing with  her  very  best  smiles  on  when  she  greeted 
Harry. 

"  How  do  you  do,  sir  ?  "  she  said,  and  put  out  both 
her  hands. 

"  I  'in  ill,"  answered  Harry.  "  I  —  I  Ve  brought  a 
letter  for  you,  Blanche." 

" A  letter,  and  from  whom  is  it,  pray  ?  Voyons" 
she  said. 

"I  don't  know  —  I  should  like  to  know,"  said  Foker. 

"  How  can  I  tell  until  I  see  it  ?  "  asked  Blanche. 

"  Has  Mrs.  Bonner  not  told  you  ?  "  he  said,  with  a 
shaking  voice,  —  "there's  some  secret.  You  give 
her  the  letter,  Lady  Clavering." 

Lady  Clavering,  wondering,  took  the  letter  from 
poor  Foker's  shaking  hand,  and  looked  at  the  super- 
scription. As  she  looked  at  it,  she  too  began  to 
shake  in  every  limb,  and  with  a  scared  face  she 
dropped  the  letter,  and  running  up  to  Frank,  clutched 
the  boy  to  her,  and  burst  out  with  a  sob  — "  Take 
that  away  —  it's  impossible,  it's  impossible." 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  cried  Blanche,  with  rather 
a  ghastly  smile ;  "  the  letter  is  only  from  —  from  a 
poor  pensioner  and  relative  of  ours." 

"It's  not  true,  it's  not  true,"  screamed  Lady  Clav- 
ering.   "  No,  my  Frank,  —  is  it,  Clavering  ?  " 

Blanche  had  taken  up  the  letter,  and  was  moving 
with  it  towards  the  fire,  but  Foker  ran  to  her  and 
clutched  her  arm  —  "I  must  see  that  letter,"  he  said; 
"give  it  me.    You  sha'n't  burn  it." 


PENDEXNIS. 


375 


« You  —  you  shall  not  treat  Miss  Amory  so  in  my 
house,"  cried  the  Baronet ;  "  give  back  the  letter,  by 
Jove ! " 

"  Read  it  —  and  look  at  her,"  Blanche  cried,  point- 
ing to  her  mother ;  "it  —  it  was  for  her  I  kept  the 
secret !    Bead  it,  cruel  man  !  " 

And  Foker  opened  and  read  the  letter :  — 

"I  have  not  wrote,  my  darling  Bessy,  this  three  weeks; 
but  this  is  to  give  her  a  father's  blessing,  and  I  shall  come  down 
pretty  soon  as  quick  as  my  note,  and  intend  to  see  the  ceremony, 
and  my  son-in-law.  I  shall  put  up  at  Bonner's.  I  have  had  a 
pleasant  autumn,  and  am  staying  here  at  an  hotel  where  there 
is  good  company,  and  which  is  kep'  in  good  style.  I  don't  know 
whether  I  quite  approve  of  your  throwing  over  Mr.  P.  for 
Mr.  F.,  and  don't  think  Foker 's  such  a  pretty  name,  and  from 
your  account  of  him  he  seems  a  muff',  and  not  a  beauty.  But 
he  has  got  the  rowdy,  which  is  the  thing.  So  no  more,  my  dear 
little  Betsy,  till  we  meet,  from  your  affectionate  father, 

"J.  Amory  Altamont." 

"  Read  it,  Lady  Clavering ;  it  is  too  late  to  keep  it 
from  you  now,"  said  poor  Foker ;  and  the  distracted 
woman,  having  cast  her  eyes  over  it,  again  broke 
out  into  hysterical  screams,  and  convulsively  grasped 
her  son. 

"  They  have  made  an  outcast  of  you,  my  boy,"  she 
said.  "  They 've  dishonored  your  old  mother ;  but 
I 'm  innocent,  Frank ;  before  God,  I 'm  innocent.  I 
didn't  know  this,  Mr.  Foker;  indeed,  indeed  I 
did  n't." 

"  I 'm  sure  you  did  n't,"  said  Foker,  going  up  and 
kissing  her  hand. 

u  Generous,  generous  Harry,"  cried  out  Blanche,  in 
an  ecstasy.  But  he  withdrew  his  hand,  which  was 
upon  her  side,  and  turned  from  her  with  a  quivering 
lip.    "  That 's  different,"  he  says. 


376 


PENDENNIS. 


"  It  was  for  her  sake  —  for  her  sake,  Harry." 
Again  Miss  Amory  is  in  an  attitude. 

"There  was  something  to  be  done  for  mine,"  said 
Foker.  "I  would  have  taken  you,  whatever  you 
were.  Everything 's  talked  about  in  London.  I  knew 
that  your  father  had  come  to  —  to  grief.  You  don't 
think  it  was  —  it  was  for  your  connection  I  married 
you  ?  D —  it  all !  I 've  loved  you  with  all  my  heart 
and  soul  for  two  years,  and  you 've  been  playing  with 
me,  and  cheating  me,"  broke  out  the  young  man,  with 
a  cry.  "  Oh,  Blanche,  Blanche,  it 's  a  hard  thing,  a 
hard  thing !  "  and  he  covered  his  face  with  his  hands, 
and  sobbed  behind  them. 

Blanche  thought,  "  Why  did  n't  I  tell  him  that  night 
when  Arthur  warned  me  ?  " 

"Don't  refuse  her,  Harry,"  cried  out  Lady  Clav- 
ering.  "  Take  her,  take  everything  I  have.  It 's 
all  hers  you  know,  at  my  death.  This  boy's  disin- 
herited."—  (Master  Frank,  who  had  been  looking 
scared  at  the  strange  scene,  here  burst  into  a  loud 
cry.)  —  "  Take  every  shilling.  Give  me  just  enough 
to  live,  and  to  go  and  hide  my  head  with  this  child, 
and  to  fly  from  both.  Oh,  they've  both  been  bad, 
bad  men.  Perhaps  he 's  here  now.  Don't  let  me  see 
him.    Clavering,  you  coward,  defend  me  from  him." 

Clavering  started  up  at  this  proposal.  "  You  ain't 
serious,  Jemima  ?  You  don't  mean  that  ?  "  he  said. 
"You  won't  throw  me  and  Frank  over?    I  didn't 

know  it,  so  help  me  .    Foker,  I 'd  no  more  idea 

of  it  than  the  dead  —  until  the  fellow  came  and  found 
me  out,  the  d — d  escaped  convict  scoundrel." 

"  The  what  ?  "  said  Foker.   Blanche  gave  a  scream. 

"  Yes,"  screamed  out  the  Baronet  in  his  turn.  "  Yes, 
a  d — d  runaway  convict  —  a  fellow  that  forged  his 
father-in-law's  name  —  a  d — d  attorney,  and  killed 


PENDENNIS. 


377 


a  fellow  in  Botany  Bay,  hang  him  —  and  ran  into 
the  Bush,  curse  him ;  I  wish  he 'd  died  there.  And 
he  came  to  me,  a  good  six  years  ago,  and  robbed  me ; 
and  I  've  been  ruining  myself  to  keep  him,  the  infer- 
nal scoundrel !  And  Pendennis  knows  it,  and  Strong 
knows  it,  and  that  d — d  Morgan  knows  it,  and  she 
knows  it,  ever  so  long;  and  I  never  would  tell  it, 
never:  and  I  kept  it  from  my  wife." 

"  And  you  saw  him,  and  you  did  n't  kill  him,  Clav- 
ering,  you  coward  ?  "  said  the  wife  of  Amory.  "  Come 
away,  Frank ;  your  father 's  a  coward.  I  am  dishon- 
ored, but  I  'm  your  old  mother,  and  you  '11  —  you  '11 
love  me,  won't  you  ?  " 

Blanche,  eploree,  went  up  to  her  mother ;  but  Lady 
Clavering  shrank  from  her  with  a  sort  of  terror. 
"  Don't  touch  me,"  she  said  ;  "  you 've  no  heart ;  you 
never  had.  I  see  all  now.  I  see  why  that  coward 
was  going  to  give  up  his  place  in  Parliament  to 
Arthur ;  yes,  that  coward  !  and  why  you  threatened 
that  you  would  make  me  give  you  half  Frank's  for- 
tune. And  when  Arthur  offered  to  marry  you  with- 
out a  shilling,  because  he  would  n't  rob  my  boy,  you 
left  him,  and  you  took  poor  Harry.  Have  nothing  to 
do  with  her,  Harry.  You're  good,  you  are.  Don't 
marry  that  —  that  convict's  daughter.  Come  away, 
Frank,  my  darling;  come  to  your  poor  old  mother. 
We  '11  hide  ourselves  ;  but  we  're  honest,  yes,  we  are 
honest." 

All  this  while  a  strange  feeling  of  exultation  had 
taken  possession  of  Blanche's  mind.  That  month 
with  poor  Harry  had  been  a  weary  month  to  her. 
All  his  fortune  and  splendor  scarcely  sufficed  to  make 
the  idea  of  himself  supportable.  She  was  wearied  of 
his  simple  ways,  and  sick  of  coaxing  and  cajoling 
him. 


378 


PENDENNIS. 


"  Stay,  Mamma ;  stay,  Madam ! 99  she  cried  out  with 
a  gesture  which  was  always  appropriate,  though  rather 
theatrical ;  "  I  have  no  heart,  have  I  ?  I  keep  the 
secret  of  my  mother's  shame.  I  give  up  my  rights 
to  my  half-brother  and  my  bastard  brother  —  yes,  my 
rights  and  my  fortune.  I  don't  betray  my  father,  and 
for  this  I  have  no  heart !  I  '11  have  my  rights  now, 
and  the  laws  of  my  country  shall  give  them  to  me.  I 
appeal  to  my  country's  laws  —  yes,  my  country's  laws  ! 
The  persecuted  one  returns  this  day.  I  desire  to  go 
to  my  father."  And  the  little  lady  swept  round  her 
hand,  and  thought  that  she  was  a  heroine. 

"  You  will,  will  you  ?  "  cried  out  Clavering,  with 
one  of  his  usual  oaths.  "I'm  a  magistrate,  and 
dammy,  I  '11  commit  him.  Here 's  a  chaise  coming  ; 
perhaps  it 's  him.    Let  him  come." 

A  chaise  was  indeed  coming  up  the  avenue  ;  and  the 
two  women  shrieked  each  their  loudest,  expecting  at 
that  moment  to  see  Altamont  arrive. 

The  door  opened,  and  Mr.  Morgan  announced  Major 
Pendennis  and  Mr. .  Pendennis,  who  entered,  and 
found  all  parties  engaged  in  this  fierce  quarrel.  A 
large  screen  fenced  the  breakfast-room  from  the  hall ; 
and  it  is  probable  that,  according  to  his  custom,  Mr. 
Morgan  had  taken  advantage  of  the  screen  to  make 
himself  acquainted  with  all  that  occurred. 

It  had  been  arranged  on  the  previous  day  that  the 
young  people  should  ride ;  and  at  the  appointed  hour 
in  the  afternoon,  Mr.  Foker's  horses  arrived  from  the 
Clavering  Arms.  But  Miss  Blanche  did  not  accom- 
pany him  on  this  occasion.  Pen  came  out  and  shook 
hands  with  him  on  the  doorsteps ;  and  Harry  Foker 
rode  away,  followed  by  his  groom  in  mourning.  The 
whole  transactions  which  have  occupied  the  most 
active  part  of  our  history  were  debated  by  the  parties 


FENDENNIS. 


379 


concerned  during  those  two  or  three  hours.  Many 
counsels  had  been  given,  stories  told,  and  compromises 
suggested;  and  at  the  end,  Harry  Foker  rode  away, 
with  a  sad  "  God  bless  you !  n  from  Pen.  There  was 
a  dreary  dinner  at  Clavering  Park,  at  which  the  lately 
installed  butler  did  not  attend ;  and  the  ladies  were 
both  absent.  After  dinner,  Pen  said,  "  I  will  walk 
down  to  Clavering  and  see  if  he  is  come."  And  he 
walked  through  the  dark  avenue,  across  the  bridge  and 
road  by  his  own  cottage,  —  the  once  quiet  and  familiar 
fields  of  which  were  flaming  with  the  kilns  and  forges 
of  the  artificers  employed  on  the  new  railroad 
works ;  and  so  he  entered  the  town,  and  made  for  the 
Clavering  Arms. 

It  was  past  midnight  when  he  returned  to  Clavering 
Park.  He  was  exceedingly  pale  and  agitated.  "  Is 
Lady  Clavering  up  yet  ?  "  he  asked.  Yes,  she  was  in 
her  own  sitting-room.  He  went  up  to  her,  and  there 
found  the  poor  lady  in  a  piteous  state  of  tears  and 
agitation. 

"  It  is  I,  —  Arthur,"  he  said,  looking  in  ;  and  enter- 
ing, he  took  her  hand  very  affectionately  and  kissed 
it.  "  You  were  always  the  kindest  of  friends  to  me, 
dear  Lady  Clavering,"  he  said.  "I  love  you  very 
much.    I  have  got  some  news  for  you." 

"  Don 't  call  me  by  that  name,"  she  said,  pressing 
his  hand.  "  You  were  always  a  good  boy,  Arthur ; 
and  it 's  kind  of  you  to  come  now,  —  very  kind.  You 
sometimes  look  very  like  your  ma,  my  dear." 

" Dear  good  Lady  Clavering"  Arthur  repeated, with 
particular  emphasis,  "  something  very  strange  has 
happened." 

"  Has  anything  happened  to  him  ?  "  gasped  Lady 
Clavering.  "  Oh,  it 's  horrid  to  think  I  should  be 
glad  of  it  —  horrid  !  " 


380 


PENDENNIS. 


"  He  is  well.  He  lias  been  and  is  gone,  my  deai 
lady.  Don't  alarm  yourself,  —  he  is  gone,  and  you 
are  Lady  Clavering  still." 

"Is  it  true,  what  he  sometimes  said  to  me,"  she 
screamed  out,  —  "  that  he  —  ?  " 

"  He  was  married  before  he  married  you,"  said  Pen. 
"  He  has  confessed  it  to-night.  He  will  never  come 
back."  There  came  another  shriek  from  Lady  Claver- 
ing, as  she  flung  her  arms  round  Pen,  and  kissed  him, 
and  burst  into  tears  on  his  shoulder, 

What  Pen  had  to  tell,  through  a  multiplicity  of  sobs 
and  interruptions,  must  be  compressed  briefly,  for  be- 
hold our  prescribed  limit  is  reached,  and  our  tale  is 
coming  to  its  end.  With  the  Branch  Coach  from  the 
railroad,  which  had  succeeded  the  old  Alacrity  and 
Perseverance,  Amory  arrived,  and  was  set  down  at  the 
Clavering  Arms.  He  ordered  his  dinner  at  the 
place  under  his  assumed  name  of  Altamont ;  and, 
being  of  a  jovial  turn,  he  welcomed  the  landlord,  who 
was  nothing  loath,  to  a  share  of  his  wine.  Having  ex- 
tracted from  Mr.  Lightfoot  all  the  news  regarding  the 
family  at  the  Park,  and  found,  from  examining  his 
host,  that  Mrs.  Lightfoot,  as  she  said,  had  kept  his 
counsel,  he  called  for  more  wine  of  Mr.  Lightfoot,  and 
at  the  end  of  this  symposium,  both,  being  greatly 
excited,  went  into  Mrs.  Lightfoot's  bar. 

She  was  there  taking  tea  with  her  friend,  Madame 
Fribsby;  and  Lightfoot  was  by  this  time  in  such  a 
happy  state  as  not  to  be  surprised  at  anything  which 
might  occur,  so  that,  when  Altamont  shook  hands  with 
Mrs.  Lightfoot  as  an  old  acquaintance,  the  recognition 
did  not  appear  to  him  to  be  in  the  least  strange,  but 
only  a  reasonable  cause  for  further  drinking.  The 
gentlemen  partook  then  of  brandy-and-water,  which 
they  offered  to  the  ladies,  not  heeding  the  terrified 
looks  of  one  or  the  other. 


PENDENNIS. 


381 


Whilst  they  were  so  engaged,  at  about  six  o'clock 
in  the  evening,  Mr.  Morgan,  Sir  Francis  Clavering's 
new  man,  came  in,  and  was  requested  to  drink.  He 
selected  his  favorite  beverage,  and  the  parties  engaged 
in  general  conversation. 

After  a  while  Mr.  Lightfoot  began  to  doze.  Mr. 
Morgan  had  repeatedly  given  hints  to  Mrs.  Fribsby 
to  quit  the  premises  ;  but  that  lady,  strangely  fasci- 
nated, and  terrified  it  would  seem,  or  persuaded  by 
Mrs.  Lightfoot  not  to  go,  kept  her  place.  Her  per- 
sistence occasioned  much  annoyance  to  Mr.  Morgan, 
who  vented  his  displeasure  in  such  language  as  gave 
pain  to  Mrs.  Lightfoot,  and  caused  Mr.  Altamont  to 
say,  that  he  was  a  rum  customer,  and  not  polite  to 
the  sex. 

The  altercation  between  the  two  gentlemen  became 
very  painful  to  the  women,  especially  to  Mrs.  Light- 
foot, who  did  everything  to  soothe  Mr.  Morgan ;  and, 
under  pretence  of  giving  a  pipe-light  to  the  stranger, 
she  handed  him  a  paper  on  which  she  had  privily 
written  the  words,  "He  knows  you.  Go."  There 
may  have  been  something  suspicious  in  her  manner  of 
handing,  or  in  her  guest's  of  reading,  the  paper :  for 
when  he  got  up  a  short  time  afterwards,  and  said 
he  would  go  to  bed,  Morgan  rose  too,  with  a  laugh, 
and  said  it  was  too  early  to  go  to  bed. 

The  stranger  then  said  he  would  go  to  his  bedroom. 
Morgan  said  he  would  show  him  the  way. 

At  this  the  guest  said,  "  Come  up.  I 've  got  a  brace 
of  pistols  up  there  to  blow  out  the  brains  of  any  traitor 
or  skulking  spy,"  and  glared .  so  fiercely  upon  Mor- 
gan, that  the  latter,  seizing  hold  of  Lightfoot  by  the 
collar,  and  waking  him,  said,  "  John  Amory,  I  arrest 
you  in  the  Queen's  name.  Stand  by  me,  Lightfoot. 
This  capture  is  worth  a  thousand  pounds." 


382 


PENDENNIS. 


He  put  forward  his  hand  as  if  to  seize  his  prisoner, 
but  the  other,  doubling  his  fist,  gave  Morgan  with  his 
left  hand  so  fierce  a  blow  on  the  chest,  that  it 
knocked  him  back  behind  Mr.  Lightfoot.  That 
gentleman,  who  was  athletic  and  courageous,  said 
he  would  knock  his  guest's  head  off,  and  prepared 
to  do  so,  as  the  stranger,  tearing  off  his  coat,  and 
cursing  both  of  his  opponents,  roared  to  them  to 
come  on. 

But  with  a  piercing  scream  Mrs.  Lightfoot  flung 
herself  before  her  husband,  whilst  with  another  and 
louder  shriek  Madame  Fribsby  ran  to  the  stranger, 
and  calling  out  "  Armstrong,  Johnny  Armstrong ! " 
seized  hold  of  his  naked  arm,  on  which  a  blue 
tattooing  of  a  heart  and  M.  F.  were  visible. 

The  ejaculation  of  Madame  Fribsby  seemed  to 
astound  and  sober  the  stranger.  He  looked  down 
upon  her,  and  cried  out,  "  It 's  Polly,  by  Jove." 

Mrs.  Fribsby  continued  to  exclaim :  "  This  is  not 
Amory.  This  is  Johnny  Armstrong,  my  wicked  — 
wicked  husband,  married  to  me  in  St.  Martin's 
Church,  mate  on  board  an  Indiaman,  and  he  left  me 
two  months  after,  the  wicked  wretch.  This  is  John 
Armstrong  —  here's  the  mark  on  his  arm  which  he 
made  for  me." 

The  stranger  said,  "I  am  John  Armstrong,  sure 
enough,  Polly.  I 'm  John  Armstrong,  Amory,  Alta- 
mont,  —  and  let  'em  all  come  on,  and  try  what 
they  can  do  against  a  British  sailor.  Hurray,  who 's 
for  it  ?  " 

Morgan  still  called  out,  "  Arrest  him  ! "  But  Mrs. 
Lightfoot  said,  "Arrest  him!  arrest  you,  you  mean 
spy  !  What !  stop  the  marriage  and  ruin  my  lady, 
and  take  away  the  Clavering  Arms  from  us  ?  " 

"  Did  he  say  he 'd  take  away  the  Clavering  Arms 


A  Discovery. 


PENDENNIS. 


383 


from  us  ? 99  asked  Mr.  Lightfoot,  turning  round. 
"Hang  him,  I'll  trottle  him!" 

"  Keep  him,  darling,  till  the  coach  passes  to  the  up 
train.    It'll  be  here  now  directly." 

"  D —  him,  I  '11  choke  him  if  he  stirs,*'  said  Light- 
foot.  And  so  they  kept  Morgan  until  the  coach 
came,  and  Mr.  Amory  or  Armstrong  went  away  back 
to  London. 

Morgan  had  followed  him  :  but  of  this  event  Arthur 
Pendennis  did  not  inform  Lady  Clavering,  and  left 
her  invoking  blessings  upon  him  at  her  son's  door, 
going  to  kiss  him  as  he  was  asleep.  It  had  been  a 
busy  day. 

We  have  to  chronicle  the  events  of  but  one  day 
more,  and  that  was  a  day  when  Mr.  Arthur,  attired  in 
a  new  hat,  a  new  blue  frock-coat  and  blue  handker- 
chief, in  a  new  fancy  waistcoat,  new  boots,  and  new 
shirt-studs  (presented  by  the  Right  Honorable  the 
Countess  Dowager  of  Rockminster),  made  his  appear- 
ance at  a  solitary  breakfast-table,  in  Clavering  Park, 
where  he  could  scarce  eat  a  single  morsel  of  food. 
Two  letters  were  laid  by  his  worship's  plate  ;  and  he 
chose  to  open  the  first,  which  was  in  a  round  clerk- 
like hand,  in  preference  to  the  second  more  familiar 
superscription. 

Note  1  ran  as  follows :  — 

"  Garbanzos  Wine  Company,  Shepherd's  Inn.  —  Monday. 

"  My  dear  Pendennis,  —  In  congratulating  you  heartily 
upon  the  event  which  is  to  make  you  happy  for  life,  I  send 
my  very  kindest  remembrances  to  Mrs.  Pendennis,  whom  I 
hope  to  know  even  longer  than  I  have  already  known  her. 
And  when  1.  call  her  attention  to  the  fact,  that  one  of  the  most 
necessary  articles  to  her  husband's  comfort  is  pure  sherry,  I 
know  I  shall  have  her  for  a  customer  for  your  worship's  sake. 

"  But  I  have  to  speak  to  you  of  other  than  my  own  con- 


384 


PENDENNIS. 


cerns.  Yesterday  afternoon,  a  certain  J.  A.  arrived  at  my 
chambers  from  Clavering,  which  he  had  left  under  circum- 
stances of  which  you  are  doubtless  now  aware.  In  spite  of 
our  difference,  I  could  not  but  give  him  food  and  shelter  (and 
he  partook  freely  both  of  the  Garbanzos  Amontillado  and  the 
Toboso  ham),  and  he  told  me  what  had  happened  to  him,  and 
many  other  surprising  adventures.  The  rascal  married  at 
sixteen,  and  has  repeatedly  since  performed  that  ceremony  — 
in  Sydney,  in  New  Zealand,  in  South  America,  in  Newcastle, 
he  says,  first,  before  he  knew  our  poor  friend  the  milliner. 
He  is  a  perfect  Don  Juan. 

"  And  it  seemed  as  if  the  commendatore  had  at  last  over- 
taken him,  for,  as  we  were  at  our  meal,  there  came  three 
heavy  knocks  at  my  outer  door,  which  made  our  friend  start. 
I  have  sustained  a  siege  or  two  here,  and  went  to  my  usual 
place  to  reconnoitre.  Thank  my  stars  I  have  not  a  bill  out  in 
the  world,  and  besides,  those  gentry  do  not  come  in  that  way. 
I  found  that  it  was  your  uncle's  late  valet,  Morgan,  and  a 
policeman  (I  think  a  sham  policeman),  and  they  said  they 
had  a  warrant  to  take  the  person  of  John  Armstrong,  alias 
Amory,  alias  Altamont,  a  run-away  convict,  and  threatened  to 
break  in  the  oak. 

"  Now,  sir,  in  my  own  days  of  captivity  I  had  discovered  a 
little  passage  along  the  gutter  into  Bows  and  Costigan's  win- 
dow, and  I  sent  Jack  Alias  along  this  covered-way,  not  with- 
out terror  of  his  life,  for  it  had  grown  very  cranky  ;  and  then, 
after  a  parley,  let  in  Mons.  Morgan  and  friend. 

'*  The  rascal  had  been  instructed  about  that  covered-way, 
for  he  made  for  the  room  instantly,  telling  the  policeman  to 
go  down  stairs  and  keep  the  gate ;  and  he  charged  up  my  little 
staircase  as  if  he  had  known  the  premises.  As  he  was  going 
out  of  the  window  we  heard  a  voice  that  you  know,  from 
Bows's  garret,  saying,  1  Who  are  ye,  and  hwhat  the  divvle  are 
ye  at  ?  Yon 'd  betther  leave  the  gutther  ;  bedad  there 's  a 
man  killed  himself  already.' 

'*  And  as  Morgan,  crossing  over  and  looking  into  the  dark- 
ness, was  trying  to  see  whether  this  awful  news  was  true,  he 
took  a  broom-stick,  and  with  a  vigorous  dash  broke  down  the 
pipe  of  communication  —  and  told  me  this  morning,  with  great 


PENDENNIS. 


385 


glee,  that  he  was  reminded  of  that  'aisy  sthratagera  by  re- 
membering his  dorling  Emilie,  when  she  acted  the  pawrt  of 
Cora  in  the  Plee  —  and  by  the  bridge  in  Pezawro,  bedad.'  I 
wish  that  scoundrel  Morgan  had  been  on  the  bridge  when  the 
General  tried  his  'sthratagem.' 

"  If  I  hear  more  of  Jack  Alias,  I  will  tell  you.  He  has  got 
plenty  of  money  still,  and  I  wanted  him  to  send  some  to  our 
poor  friend  the  milliner  ;  but  the  scoundrel  laughed  and  said, 
he  had  no  more  than  he  wanted,  but  offered  to  give  anybody  a 
lock  of  his  hair.  Farewell  —  be  happy  !  and  believe  me  al- 
ways truly  yours, 

"  E.  Strong." 

"  And  now  for  the  other  letter,"  said  Pen.  "  Dear 
old  fellow  ! "  and  he  kissed  the  seal  before  he  broke 
it. 

**  "Warrington,  Tuesday. 
"I  must  not  let  the  day  pass  over  without  saying  a  God 
bless  you,  to  both  of  you.  May  Heaven  make  you  happy, 
dear  Arthur,  and  dear  Laura.  I  think,  Pen,  that  you  have 
got  the  best  wife  in  the  world  ;  and  pray  that,  as  such,  you 
will  cherish  her  and  tend  her.  The  chambers  will  be  lonely 
without  you,  dear  Pen  ;  but  if  I  am  tired,  I  shall  have  a  new 
home  to  go  to  in  the  house  of  my  brother  and  sister.  I  am 
practising  in  the  nursery  here,  in  order  to  prepare  for  the  part 
of  Uncle  George.  Farewell !  make  your  wedding  tour,  and 
come  back  to  your  affectionate.  G.  W  " 

Pendennis  and  his  wife  read  this  letter  together 
after  Doctor  Portman's  breakfast  was  over,  and  the 
guests  were  gone  ;  and  when  the  carriage  was  waiting 
amidst  the  crowd  at  the  Doctor's  outer  gate.  But  the 
wicket  led  into  the  churchyard  of  St.  Mary's,  where 
the  bells  were  pealing  with  all  their  might,  and  it 
was  here,  over  Helen's  green  grass,  that  Arthur 
showed  his  wife  George's  letter.  For  which  of  those 
two  —  for  grief  was  it  or  for  happiness,  that  Laura's 


386 


PENDENNIS. 


tears  abundantly  fell  on  the  paper  ?  And  once  more, 
in  the  presence  of  the  sacred  dust,  she  kissed  and 
blessed  her  Arthur. 

There  was  only  one  marriage  on  that  day  at  Claver- 
ing  Church ;  for  in  spite  of  Blanche's  sacrifices  for  her 
dearest  mother,  honest  Harry  Foker  could  not  pardon 
the  woman  who  had  deceived  her  intended  husband, 
and  justly  argued  that  she  would  deceive  him  again. 
He  went  to  the  Pyramids  and  Syria,  and  there  left 
his  malady  behind  him,  and  returned  with  a  fine 
beard,  and  a  supply  of  tarbooshes  and  nargillies,  with 
which  he  regales  all  his  friends.  He  lives  splendidly, 
and,  through  Pen's  mediation,  gets  his  wine  from  the 
celebrated  vintages  of  the  Duke  of  Garbanzos. 

As  for  poor  Cos,  his  fate  has  been  mentioned  in  an 
early  part  of  this  story.  No  very  glorious  end  could 
be  expected  to  such  a  career.  Morgan  is  one  of  the 
most  respectable  men  in  the  parish  of  St.  James's, 
and  in  the  present  political  movement  has  pronounced 
himself  like  a  man  and  a  Briton.  And  Bows, —  on 
the  demise  of  Mr.  Piper,  who  played  the  organ  at 
Clavering,  little  Mrs.  Sam  Huxter,  who  has  the  entire 
command  of  Doctor  Portman,  brought  Bows  down 
from  London  to  contest  the  organ-loft,  and  her  candi- 
date carried  the  chair.  When  Sir  Francis  Clavering 
quitted  this  worthless  life,  the  same  little  indefati- 
gable canvasser  took  the  borough  by  storm,  and  it  is 
now  represented  by  Arthur  Pendennis,  Esq.  Blanche 
Amory,  it  is  well  known,  married  at  Paris,  and  the 
saloons  of  Madame  la  Comtesse  de  Montmorenci  de 
Valentinois  were  amongst  the  most  suivis  of  that 
capital.  The  duel  between  the  Count  and  the  young 
and  fiery  representative  of  the  Mountain,  Alcide  de 
Mirobo,  arose  solely  from  the  latter  questioning  at 


Aw  Escape. 


PENDENNIS. 


387 


the  Club  the  titles  borne  by  the  former  nobleman. 
Madame  de  Montmorenci  de  Valentinois  travelled 
after  the  adventure  :  and  Bungay  bought  her  poems, 
and  published  them,  with  the  Countess's  coronet  em- 
blazoned on  the  Countess's  work. 

Major  Pendennis  became  very  serious  in  his  last 
days,  and  was  never  so  happy  as  when  Laura  was 
reading  to  him  with  her  sweet  voice,  or  listening  to 
his  stories.  For  this  sweet  lady  is  the  friend  of 
the  young  and  the  old :  and  her  life  is  always  passed 
in  making  other  lives  happy. 

"  And  what  sort  of  a  husband  would  this  Pendennis 
be  ?  99  many  a  reader  will  ask,  doubting  the  happiness 
of  such  a  marriage,  and  the  fortune  of  Laura.  The 
querists,  if  they  meet  her,  are  referred  to  that  lady 
herself,  who,  seeing  his  faults  and  wayward  moods 
—  seeing  and  owning  that  there  are  men  better  than 
he  —  loves  him  always  with  the  most  constant  affec- 
tion. His  children  or  their  mother  have  never  heard 
a  harsh  word  from  him ;  and  when  his  fits  of  moodi- 
ness and  solitude  are  over,  welcome  him  back  with  a 
never-failing  regard  and  confidence.  His  friend  is 
his  friend  still,  —  entirely  heart-whole.  That  malady 
is  never  fatal  to  a  sound  organ.  And  George  goes 
through  his  part  of  godpapa  perfectly,  and  lives 
alone.  If  Mr.  Pen's  works  have  procured  him  more 
reputation  than  has  been  acquired  by  his  abler  friend, 
whom  no  one  knows,  George  lives  contented  without 
the  fame.  If  the  best  men  do  not  draw  the  great 
prizes  in  life,  we  know  it  has  been  so  settled  by  th? 
Ordainer  of  the  lottery.  We  own,  and  see  daily,  ho 
the  false  and  worthless  live  and  prosper,  while  the 
good  are  called  away,  and  the  dear  and  young  per- 
ish untimely,  —  we  perceive  in  every  man's  life  the 
maimed  happiness,  the  frequent  falling,  the  bootless 


388 


PENDENNIS. 


endeavor,  the  struggle  of  Eight  and  Wrong,  in  which 
the  strong  often  succumb  and  the  swift  fail :  we  see 
flowers  of  good  blooming  in  foul  places,  as,  in  the 
most  lofty  and  splendid  fortunes,  flaws  of  vice  and 
meanness,  and  stains  of  evil ;  and,  knowing  how  mean 
the  best  of  us  is,  let  us  give  a  hand  of  charity  to  Ar- 
thur Pendennis,  with  all  his  faults  and  short-comings, 
who  does  not  claim  to  be  a  hero,  but  only  a  man  and 
a  brother. 


THE  END 


